Calling the Turn
by Cobalt Jan
Summary: Johnny comes face to face with his past. Sequel to Catalyst.
1. Chapter 1

Calling the Turn

Chapter 1

He walked into the café. Grateful the place was empty. His hand moved quickly to silence the bell's jingle and turned the sign from 'open' to 'closed'. Gingerly, he stepped over shards of broken glass on his way to the kitchen. He leaned against the door frame and admired the petite blonde as she swept. The floor was covered. Not just with the day's tromped in dust and grime but also broken remnants of a substantial portion of her dinnerware. Silently, he moved closer, wrapped his arms about her waist, and rested his chin atop her head. She relaxed and he felt her weight press against him.

"Not having a very good day, I take it," he said.

"Nope, but it just got so much better," she said. Using her broom for balance she turned on her toes. Stretching tall, she kissed Scott Lancer squarely on his lips. He happily returned the greeting, squeezing her close. Their mouths parted and she dropped back onto her heels. Her tongue slipped contentedly across her lips. "Oh, yes, I'd say this day just got a whole lot better."

Slowly, Scott brushed an errant tendril of hair from her cheek. Looking past her, his eyes traveled about the kitchen, and he shook his head. Dishes, still in one piece, were few and piles of dirty pots and pans, many. "You, my dear Willie, need to hire some help."

Pushing her broom towards the tall man, she looked up at him demurely. "You interested, Mister? Pay's not great but, for you, perhaps I could arrange a few benefits. They might be… uhm… enticing." She offered him a wink.

"Now hold on there, Ma'am," Scott spoke as he backed away, hands held up protectively. I happen to be a man in love and that might cause a few problems. I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

A heavy sigh passed Willie's lips. "In love huh? Pity. And with those fine hands too." Stepping forward she walked back into his arms and placed her head on his chest. "She is a very lucky woman. Very lucky indeed."

"Well, that is true but, at this moment, you may have forced me to reconsider. You do have a sizeable mess on your hands and the gentlemanly thing would be to offer my assistance. Because, in case you were not aware, I am always a gentleman."

Pressing away from his embrace Willie looked into Scott's eyes. "Why, Scott Lancer, I recall a few situations where such a statement could be called into question."

Scott cleared his throat and feigned a hurtful look. "Possibly, but I was only honoring my lady's wishes."

"True enough." She smiled. "And, if I may add, the lady was pleased."

"Well, that is good news. Now, if it pleases the lady again, I'll take that broom while you go get a dust pan."

Willie looked from Scott to the broom to the mess and her dark eyes sparkled. "Oh, it pleases the lady."

"I was serious, Willie, you really could use some help around here," Scott said as they began to work.

"I'm afraid that's how I got myself into this situation," Willie said, pouring the first full dust pan into a trash barrel. "Yesterday, we were so busy, I knew I needed an extra pair of hands and as luck would have it, this morning a young man came in looking for work. I handed him an apron, no questions asked. Have to admit he impressed me. Knew his way around a kitchen, cooked a delectable hash, but darn, if he didn't leave a messy trail the likes of which old Gus could follow, and he can't see past the end of his nose. Before I knew it he was clearing tables and pouring coffee, and I was feeling pretty darned pleased with myself, despite the mess. Things were going well until the lunch crowd hit. As more people came in he became flustered, started dropping and spilling things. The place cleared out and he tried to bring a stack of plates into the kitchen as tall as he was. Think he meant well enough, maybe he was trying to make up for his earlier mistakes. Only thing is he forgot he'd dropped the butter dish on his first trip in. Stepped right in it then went sliding across the floor and well, you see the result. I tell you, I was so mad I told him to leave then and there. Suppose I shouldn't have but you know how I get."

"Yes, dear, I've met your temper and my heart goes out to the poor boy."

"Can you blame me, Scott? I mean look at this place."

Scott struggled to control a burst of laughter but lost.

"It's not funny," Willie said as she batted at his arm. "It's not funny." Looking at the mess, she also lost the battle and stated to laugh. "Suppose it beats crying."

"Suppose it does," Scott said through his mirth. He wiped at his watering eyes.

With their task finally completed they surveyed the café. Scott pulled Willie with him as he sat in a dining chair and tugged her into his lap. "We've dealt with the mess. Now we need to see about getting you some more dishes, or you won't be serving much tomorrow. Do you think Wilkes' Store will have enough?"

"Oh I hardly think so, but it will be better than what I have to work with now." Willie tilted her head so it rested on Scott's shoulder. Together they sat admiring their work in comfortable silence. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I'm glad you were here. I've missed you."

"Me too," he said.

A lover's silence settled over the pair. Scott breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of Willie's hair. He had missed her. A week away was much too long. Thankfully Jelly was more than happy to stay in Modesto and handle the remaining details.

"As much as I'd like to stay exactly like this, Scott, we should get to the store before they close up for tonight. Don't think people will want to eat their flapjacks from coffee mugs tomorrow morning."

Rising from the chair, Scott lifted Willie in his arms. "Very well, but we get to return to this position when we're done. That my dear, is the price you must pay."

"You sir, drive a hard bargain. One I'm willing to accept, as long as you put me down now."

Hand in hand they walked into the Wilkes' General Store and together turned up their noses at the unmistakable scent of vinegar, which greeted them. "What on earth happened in here?"

"Not what, who," Mrs. Wilkes said as she held a hat to her nose and sniffed. She shook her head in disgust. "My new shipment of bonnets and they'll need to be washed before I can sell the first one. Thank goodness he didn't try to move it next to these velvet drapes. They came in today for the Delaney's and they'd surely have been ruined."

"Who?" Willie asked.

"A nice, young man. He came in looking for work. Meant well, thought the pickle jar would do better out of the sun, perhaps he was right. Well, it slipped right out of his hands. My lord what a sound it made. Surprised you didn't hear it clear across the street."

"Hmmm, might have if we weren't cleaning up our own mess. My guess is, you hired the same young man I did. Good intentions - bad luck it would seem. I'm afraid I'll be needing every dinner plate you have, thanks to his helpfulness."

"Oh, you, poor dear, let me see what I've got. Why don't you come with me into the back? I'm afraid they won't all match, but I should be able to offer you a good…"

Both women chattered their way into the back of the store and Scott found himself alone as their voices grew distant. He was left standing among the sacks of sugar and flour, dress forms, hats, butter churns, a variety of books and tools, and the pungent smell of vinegar. It was the smell which prompted his decision to step outside.

Long shadows told of the late afternoon hour. A variety of people were closing up shop and scurrying home for their evening rituals. He tipped his hat to Mrs. Godfrey and her daughter as they strolled past. A delightful scent of fresh baked bread rose from their basket. The aroma caused Scott to realize how hungry he was. A loud crash drew his attention away from his stomach, and he hurried in its direction - the livery.

A young man came tripping out of the barn with Lou chasing after him waving a pitchfork as he went. "You're lucky he didn't kill you, I told you to stay out of his stall, now I've got a hole the size of the badlands to patch, thanks to you!"

He crashed head first into Scott. "Now slow down there." He placed his hands on the youth's shoulders and turned to his pursuer. "Lou, take it easy. It can't be that bad."

"Told him to stay away from Joker. You know how he gets. Hell, with the way that kid stinks, well…"

"I'm sorry, Mister. His stall needed muckin'. Looked like it hadn't been done for a while..."

"Why do you keep that horse, Lou? He doesn't belong in a place like this, and you know it."

"There ain't no one who will take him, crazy like he is, and I don't have the heart to put a bullet in him. He was a good horse once. What would you have me do?"

"I suppose a good place to start would be not hiring kids that stink to high heaven, Lou. You had to know the smell would set him off. You ok, kid? Did either of them hurt you?"

"No, Sir. I'm fine, Sir. Thank you."

"You've left an extensive trail of destruction. Have you been anywhere else I should know about? Besides the café, general store and here?"

"No, Sir, that about covers it." The boy said with a dip of his head. "Suppose I better call it a day before I burn the town down or somethin'."

"I would agree. Seems you've done enough damage for one day. You'll need to save something for tomorrow." Scott mussed the young man's dark hair. "You got a name kid or should I just call you trouble?"

The first trace of a smile brightened the dirt smudged face. "Name's Remington, Remington Gray. But people call me Remy."

"Well, Remy Gray, it's nice to finally meet you. I'm Scott Lancer," Scott said as he stuck out his hand with a smile. "I've heard so much about you."

Remy met his handshake with a bright smile of his own.

"Scott?" Willie's voice carried down the street. "Scott?"

Putting an arm around the young man's shoulders Scott moved toward the sound of Willie's voice.

"Not too sure she's gonna want to see me, Mr. Lancer. Think maybe I'll be movin on."

"Nonsense, Remy. I assure you she'll hold no grudge. Mistakes happen all the time. Why the other day I was pulling a sack of flour off the back of the wagon, and it caught on a nail. I carried it on my shoulder through the house without knowing I'd ripped it. In fact, I didn't know until I dropped it to the table in the kitchen. A white cloud billowed up covering me and darn near everything else, not to mention the tracks I left." Scott fell silent for a moment, considering the event. "I really should have used the kitchen door."

"Why, Scott Lancer, I do believe you have found our young friend. I'm afraid you left so quickly I didn't get a chance to pay you."

"Don't deserve no pay, Ma'am. I'd offer to work off what I cost ya but it might end up costin' ya more."

"Young man you put in your time, and you deserve to be paid. Isn't that right, Mrs. Wilkes?"

"I'm not so sure I agree with you, Willie. There is that matter of a jar of pickles and the time it'll take to wash those bonnets..."

"Do as you wish but I feel he should be paid." Willie opened her purse. "Two bits, that's fair for a half day's work."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Remy said. He took the money then turned to Mrs. Wilkes. "Not sure this will be enough, it's all I got." Holding out his hand, he stood waiting for the shop keeper to accept his offer.

With a huff, Mrs. Wilkes turned and walked back into her store. "Consider yourself paid, young man. Willie dear, you'd better get your dishes, I'm about to close up for the day."

"I'll need two strong men to carry them, if you're both willing."

"You are a brave woman, Mrs. Lancer."

"Oh, goodness, no. There is no Mrs. Lancer. Suppose we should have introduced ourselves proper." Willie extended her hand. "Mrs. Wilhelmina Dawson," she said with the slightest hint of a curtsey.

Wide eyed, Remy looked at Scott then took Willie's hand and stated his name.

With a whisper Scott confided in Remy. "She's a widow."

"No impropriety here, right, Mr. Lancer?" Willie's reply was punctuated by a coy smile.

"That's right, Mrs. Dawson," said Scott.

"Willie!" Mrs. Wilkes shouted from inside her store. "I don't have all night."

~*~*~*~*~

Dinner was late. Neither Scott nor Johnny made an appearance until well after dark. Murdoch's initial foul mood lightened as Johnny told of the men's progress clearing the new pasture and Scott told of his success in Modesto.

Last year's project proved so successful they decided to continue expansion of the south pasture. This time, however, the scale was much grander. It required the removal of two large wooded areas, totaling close to three square miles or 2,000 acres making room for an additional 500 head of cattle. The project would pay for itself by the sale of lumber to the railroad. A deal Jelly parlayed, thanks to his previous ties with the Central Pacific and Scott fine tuned, getting top dollar for the prime lumber instead of a lot price. Jelly was to stay in Modesto to verify the loads for payment. Trees measuring twelve inches in diameter and above fetched the highest price. This made Murdoch even happier.

By the time the conversation turned to Scott's afternoon in Spanish Wells the mood had become very nearly festive and stories of the young man's exploits brought forth fits of laughter.

Through her giggles Teresa managed some sympathy for Willie. "I'm sure we have some extra dinnerware in the attic, Scott. Tomorrow I'll take a look and you can bring more to her."

"Yes, Scott, I imagine Mrs. Wilkes took full advantage of a woman in need, made her pay a high price, no doubt," Murdoch bemoaned.

"I couldn't say one way or the other. I do try to stay out of her business affairs. She's been running that café on her own for over a year now, and doing extremely well."

"Business affairs, huh, Scott? I'm thinking that's her only affairs you stay out of."

"Johnny." Murdoch cautioned softly, his eyes moving toward Teresa.

"Murdoch, I know about affairs of the heart. You don't need to protect me. I'm no child."

"You'll always be a child in my eyes young lady, so you might as well get used to it," Murdoch said with a wink and a pat on her hand.

"There are worse things I suppose," Teresa sighed and rose to clear the table.

"Worse would be if Mr. Wilkes were around. He'd have charged three times what his wife did. Reckon he'll dish out some grief for Willie when he returns expectin' free food for a month or more."

"Very funny Johnny, dish out," Scott snickered.

"So, where's this kid now? Who's fool enough to get hooked up with a bad luck charm like him?"

"That would be me, err, us," Scott muttered as he fingered his cup before draining its last traces of coffee. "He's odor free and in the bunkhouse."

"Think I smelled me some of that vinegar, when I put Barranca in his stall. No wonder Joker went wild."

"Speaking of Joker, Johnny, it appears I sang a bit of your praises on the way home and now Remy thinks you can… oh I don't know… fix him."

"Fix him? What are you loco, Scott? Somethin' snapped in that horse a long time ago, not sure he can be fixed."

"If anyone can, it would be you, Johnny. I have every confidence."

"Ya, well, you can have all the confidence you want, don't mean I'll do it."

Scott started to speak again until Johnny raised his hand. He pushed off from the table and stood resting his elbows over the back of his chair. His eyes darkened with a look of concern. "Horses like Joker can kill a man, Scott. Ya think you got 'em beat then out of the blue they turn on ya. I've seen it happen."

"Now, Johnny," Murdoch interrupted. "Do I need to put my foot down? Say you can't go near that horse? Because that is exactly what I would do if I thought for one minute it would do any good."

A broad smile spread across Johnny's face. "Glad you know, Murdoch. That would be the fastest way to make me say yes." He turned toward Scott. "I'll think about it, though. Remember, I ain't makin' no promises. Understood?"

Scott nodded "Understood."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Most days Johnny woke before the rest of the family and today was no exception. He stretched in his bed mentally running through the day's plan. Earlier in the week, while Scott and Jelly headed off to Modesto, Johnny assembled a crew and got to work clearing out the underbrush and small trees in the first section. It was his goal to have three wagons ready for the exchange. In the future the plan was to have five loads per week.

In fact, each wagon should bring top dollar. Once the brush was cleared, his crew had concentrated on loading only the mid-sized trees, like the ones Scott mentioned over dinner. Figuring smaller ones could be cut for their own firewood and larger trees should remain standing both for leveraging the heavy logs now and providing much needed shade later.

Men from Central Pacific Railroad were expected to arrive this afternoon and with the way things were going, they should have their final wagon fully loaded in plenty of time for the swap. Johnny was grateful the railroad bellied up for this part of the job. Lancer was working on a short string as it was, without having to send men off delivering lumber.

Everything was coming together, which both pleased and surprised all three Lancers. After the difficult survey, there was little hope for a smooth operation. But here it was, Friday, and if things continued as they had, the first week would go off without a hitch.

Climbing out of bed he moved quickly to dress in the chilled morning air. All this thought of firewood and his hearth was bare. Never would have happened if Jelly were here. Guess he'd have to remember to load up before bed tonight.

He moved past Scott's room and noticed his door open. For the briefest moment, he toyed with the idea of waking him but decided against it. It was much too early, still being dark, and after being away few things felt better than your own bed. Johnny found comfort in those words, your own bed, words that for so long meant nothing and now swung a lot of weight. Words that made him realize how far he'd come over the years.

He moved on, down the backstairs and into the kitchen. It was cold, dark and empty. There was no chance of getting a hot cup of coffee to start the day, and he wasn't about to take the time to make some. He needed to get the men moving, another job that usually fell on Jelly's shoulders. Damn he missed the old codger. At least Scott was back. He'd missed him too, but for entirely different reasons. What he missed with Scott had little to do with what he did, but almost for what he didn't do. He didn't lecture and he didn't criticize, leastwise not in a way that left a man feeling foolish. He listened and talked things through. It was the talking he missed. Though their takin' time wasn't what it used to be, what with Willie in the picture, but that was more than OK. He liked Willie and liked what she did for his brother.

Stepping outside and into the sting of cold morning air brought his mind quickly back to task. Rubbing his hands together he blew on them sending a puff of silvered breath into the air. He peered into the darkness, only the faint outline of the bunk house was visible. With resolve, he pressed his hat firmly onto his head before stepping off the porch.

It would be a while before they saw the sun, if they saw it at all, today. Thick clouds had rolled in during the night, bringing the threat of a late winter rain. Getting a head start on the day was a good idea, made all the better by it being the request of the crew. Yesterday, after a long day of work, they made sure Johnny knew what they wanted. And what they wanted, was to call it quits – early - and get a jump on their Friday night.

Johnny had no problem with an early day then and was more pleased now. As long as the job planned was the job done. To make that happen, the men had been warned. If they wanted their fun then the day would start extra early and that meant before sunrise. It had been his intention to tell Scott during dinner but the conversation took an unexpected turn, and by the time he remembered he was warm in bed and bone tired.

Entering the bunkhouse he was met with ear breaking snores and the stink of men who'd eaten too many beans mixed with the sweat of hard work. Another thing Jelly was good for, feeding the men something other than beans. These sounds and smells always brought him back to another life, when a dozen or more men would share a tent or a shack before heading out to bust a few heads or burn a few barns. A life, like most, filled with some good and some bad. It was the bad he hoped none of these men, he called friend, would ever know firsthand.

He jostled Stu awake and signaled for him to get the rest of the men moving. His signals also made it clear that Stu was to allow their newest addition to sleep in. This kid was Scott's problem, and he was not welcome on a job as dangerous as this one, not with the trouble he caused in Spanish Wells yesterday. The ranch hand obliged and the men assembled quickly and without the customary grumbling.

Darkness and silence followed the men as they moved out. By the time they'd traveled under the arch the silence was broken. One by one each man became less groggy and the grumbling began. First about it being so damn cold, then their need for coffee, next the fact the sun wasn't up yet, then they conveniently forgot why they were starting so early. Secretly enjoying their discomfort, Johnny rode along in silence.

Gradually, their moods changed as their bodies warmed, and by the time they crested the hill, approaching their destination, most of the men were busy planning who, or what they would do in town tonight. The usual jokes about needin' a bath and which lady would entertain which cowboy and why gave way to a new buzz, the faro table at Green River's Painted Lady Saloon. Most played last Friday, except for a couple of green kids, and they were all anxious to try their luck again.

Stu, being the loudest, boasted of his luck. "If you gents want, I can show ya how it's done. Maybe then you can walk away smiling too."

"Shit Stu, the only thing that leaves me smilin' is that red hot mama, what's her name? No matter, don't call her anything but 'My God'. Damn the things she does to me. All that game is, is dumb luck. You ain't got nothing' to teach any of us. Ain't that right Johnny?"

"Yea, Stu. Charlie's speakin' the truth. The fact is, that dealer might be settin' you up to reel you in like a sucker. Don't know many faro banks that are on the up and up."

"Hey now, I know when I'm bein' cheated and that ain't how it happened. Some folk won and some folk lost, but me, I was the big winner."

"If you say so, Stu. If you say so."

"When you gonna try your hand at it Johnny?"

"Not till I'm sure his box ain't rigged. Hell, even if he was Doc Holiday himself, I'd be worried about the take. This banker can't be trusted till he proves he can be trusted."

"Oh, Johnny, just come into town with us tonight and give the 'ole tiger's tale a twist. Who knows, ya just might walk outta there a rich man."

"I'd rather sit at a table, feel the cards in my fingers, and know they ain't been snipped or creased. And nothing beats trying to figure out if the man on the other side of the table is really holdin' a full house of a pile of shit. That's gamblin' to me, not this blind luck crap."

"Well, I ain't no good at bluffin'. You know that, Johnny."

Johnny smiled. "Yea, Stu, I know that. Shit, I knew that before you did, which is why you owe me, what is it, Stu? Fifteen dollars? Come to think of it, if you won so big last week, how come ya didn't pay me?"

"Sorry, 'bout that, Johnny, must a slipped my mind."

"Now, Stu. I can't even see your face, and I know you're bluffin' me. You didn't actually think I'd forget about it, did you?"

"It was worth a shot, Johnny. I'll pay up as soon as we reach camp."

~*~*~*~*~

Scott had left his bedroom door open upon going to bed in the hopes of waking early. He wanted to talk to Johnny first thing in the morning about his idea and hoped his brother would agree. Unfortunately, it wasn't his brother that woke him. It was the repeated cries from Maria that penetrated Scott's sleep.

"¡Mi cocina! Mi cocina! ¿Qué usted ha hecho a mi cocina?"

She was yelling at someone about her kitchen. Only they weren't matching her scream for scream. Therefore, it was not Teresa, because Teresa was known to give as good as she got. It took a few moments for his head to separate dreams from reality, and once it did Scott bolted from his bed. "Remy," he said in a half whisper.

"¡Salga! ¡Salga! Mi calidad, tal lío."

More shouting traveled up to Scott's room. With unusual speed, he pulled on his clothes. Hopping down the hall he yanked on his boots and thundered down the back stairs.

"¡Salga de mi cocina, ahora! "

Rushing into the room he came face to face with a spoon wielding Maria. Having just missed Remy, all he caught sight of was the bottom of the young man's boot on its way out the door.

"¡Y estancia hacia fuera!" Maria said, slamming her spoon on the table. "Ay yi yi! Tal lío, me tomará todo el dia para limpiar." Scott didn't understand her words but had a pretty good idea what she meant as she moved about the kitchen seemingly unaware of her audience. Her words were directed inward as she roamed, picking up bowls and spoons and towels. When she reached the stove she leaned over the pan and sniffed. "Hmph." Stirring it with her spoon she tasted it. Starting with a scowl her features gradually relaxed, giving way to a barely noticeable smile and a favorable nod. Looking up she finally noticed Scott standing in the back doorway then turned to follow his gaze only to find both Murdoch and Teresa in the main entrance.

She stood tall and smoothed her skirt. "Breakfast is almost ready." Controlled anger meant the return of her English. She reached for the coffee pot. "Coffee?"

"Yes, Maria, coffee sounds good." Murdoch spoke as he strode across the kitchen and pulled several mugs from the shelf. He looked about for one uncluttered spot to set them down, upon finding none, he held out each mug for Maria to fill.

"Would you like some help, Maria?" Teresa asked, accepting her coffee from Murdoch. Amusement and pity were both evident on her face.

"Si, Teresa, after you eat."

With coffee in hand Scott stepped outside. Daybreak had brought a chill and the threat of rain. Low clouds clung to the mountains, dissolving their peaks into grey mist. Hands wrapped snug around his mug, he took a sip and went in search of his young friend. The poor boy had encountered more than his share of anger in the past twenty four hours. For some reason, Scott thought he might be used to it. He found him in the bunkhouse lying on his made bed, the only made bed in the room. His hands were tucked behind his head, eyes staring at the bunk above and his feet crossed at the ankles. His boots had been removed and placed side by side near the door.

Moving to sit at the foot of the bed, Scott spoke. "Maria was impressed with your breakfast once she calmed down enough to give it a try. Don't imagine that surprises you." Scott nodded as he took another sip of coffee. "Even your coffee is good. You have a gift young man."

There was no reaction from Remy.

"Perhaps you could learn to be a bit neater. It might make things easier for you."

"Never needed to do the spit and polish. That was always my sister's job. Guess I better learn or give up on cooking all together."

"So, you have a sister? Why aren't you with her now?"

Remy shrugged. "Just ain't is all. No one reason in particular, things get kind of complicated sometimes."

Scott dropped his head and found himself focusing on a knot in the wooden floor. Complicated. He knew complicated and he also knew it was not always something easy to put into words, especially with a relative stranger. Perhaps when they were better acquainted, maybe then. "From what I understand there is a mighty fine breakfast waiting for us and I, for one, am very hungry. Care to join us?"

"No thank you, Mr. Lancer, it is for you and your family. The only way I had to thank you for your kindness, just backfired a bit."

"We need to get a few things straight, Remy. First off, my name is Scott and my brother is Johnny. Mr. Lancer is our father and there are very few people that even call him Mister. Usually people he doesn't like. Second, the only way your thank you will backfire is if you are not there to accept the accolades. Do I make myself clear?"

"Well, sort of. What are those acco, accolades I'm supposed to accept?"

Laughing, Scott swiped Remy's feet off the bed. "Praise, my dear boy, praise. Now come along because, I must warn you, I tend to get bad-tempered when I'm hungry. And to be honest I think you've experienced enough bad temper to last through next week."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The dining room was quiet when Scott ushered Remy through the front door. He leaned in close to his young friend. "Silence," he whispered, "a testament to your fine cuisine."

Murdoch looked up with a gleam in his eye. "Young man," he said before scooping in another mouthful. He wiped a napkin across his face, tossed the cloth next to his plate and stood to meet Remy. Still chewing, he took hold of the young man's hand with both of his and shook. His mouth finally emptied, he broke into a grand smile. "Wonderful breakfast, son. Please join us." He swept his hand in a gesture welcoming Remy to the table. "There is plenty to go around." His eyes shifted to Scott. "Pity Johnny isn't here to enjoy it. Delightful, simply, delightful." He settled back into his chair and gathered up more compote and waffle onto his fork.

Teresa cleared her throat delicately and Murdoch stopped his fork's progress half-way to his lips. "My manners, they appear to be lost in this good food." Waving his fork from Remy to Teresa, he said, "Scott, would you do the honors?" He then slid the forkful into his mouth with a pleasant growl.

"Certainly. Teresa I'd like for you to meet Remington Gray. Remy, Miss Teresa O'Brien."

With unexpected grace Remy bowed deeply. "It is a pleasure, Miss O'Brien."

Waving her hand in front of her face she blushed slightly. "Please, call me Teresa."

"As you wish, Teresa," Remy replied with a thin smile.

"Now we have the formalities out of the way, let's eat before Murdoch devours it all." Scott guided Remy to a chair and waited for him to sit before moving to his own. Grabbing hold of the platter he asked, "Where is Johnny?"

"Early start, I imagine. No doubt wanted things done before the weather turned."

"No doubt." Scott scowled. "I was hoping to have Remy accompany him. Pity he didn't think of that himself."

"My guess would be, Scott, after the stories you told last night he may have thought about it more than you realize." Murdoch turned to Remy. "No offense, young man, but you did have quite a string of mishaps and this morning's mess makes me think they are a regular occurrence for you."

"That's alright, Mr. Lancer, Sir. I can't blame him. I do appear to be a Jonah. You know, bringer of bad luck. Not used to being on my own is all and I'm – uhm - kind a nervous. Never looked for work before, neither. "

"Every young man has to strike out on his own at one time or another. What brought you here of all places?"

"As I told Scott here, Mr. Lancer, it's sort a complicated. But I swear I ain't runnin' from the law or nothin'. On that you have my word."

"Why, thank you, Remy, I do appreciate that." Murdoch said with a thoughtful smile. "Suppose you tell me where you learned to cook like this, then. That shouldn't be too complicated. Can't say I've met many boys… what are you sixteen?"

"Yes, Sir. Just turned - two weeks ago." Remy said with a proud grin.

"Haven't met many, I should say any, sixteen year old boys that know their way around a kitchen so well."

"Ma taught me and I always sort a liked it. My sister, Reba, she don't like it so much, but she'd follow behind and clean up." He paused for a moment and poked at the food on his plate. "We had a little café in Nogales for as long as I can remember. Pa died when I was still real little and Ma needed some way ta make money. People loved Ma's cookin. There weren't none better," he boasted.

"I'm sorry about your Pa, Remy," Teresa spoke sympathetically.

"Ain't nothin' ta be sorry for, can't say I remember the man."

"So, your Mother and sister, are they still in Nogales?"

"No, Ma'am," he said quietly. My Ma, she's dead now too."

"Dear me, Remy, I'm so sorry. So that just leaves you and your sister? Alone?"

"Not alone exactly. Ma married again when we was still kids. Reba's with him, he's our Pa now." Remy straightened in his chair. "I'm grown, old enough to be on my own. She's just a girl. And I don't want no girl hanging around. No offense," he said nodding toward Teresa.

"None taken, Remy. We girls have been known to get in our brother's way at times. Isn't that right, Scott?"

Caught off guard by the comment, Scott drew a sudden breath, choking on his waffle. He met Teresa's questioning gaze and colored at her impish grin. It wasn't very long ago she had come upon Willie and himself in a… err… touchy situation. "There are times, yes, Teresa, you are correct." He coughed and drank from his coffee cup then seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Remy, what did you put in this? It is very good."

He looked from Scott to Teresa and smiled. "That is how my Pa likes it. Vanilla and cinnamon, it cuts the bitterness. Says he used to drink it in Mexico, before he married our Ma. He don't like it any other way. The trick is not using too much, so you don't taste it. Just make it taste better."

Scott nodded appreciatively and watched his father put yet another dollop of compote on his plate. "You know, Murdoch, with Jelly gone I thought it would be a good idea to let Remy cook for the men. I could bring him out to the work site this morning and he could prepare lunch. If it goes over well, we can hire him."

"As long as Johnny has no objections, Scott, I don't see why not. You might find me out there swinging an ax - just to get a taste of this young man's cooking," Murdoch said with a smile and drained the last drops from his cup. "Is there more coffee?"

~*~*~*~*~

Under Maria's watchful eye Remy was slow to gather everything he needed. It was obvious he tried to return things he didn't want or need to their original position but it was never to the cook's satisfaction. She followed his every move, nudging things into place and sometimes pulling jars or cans directly from his hands to put them back where they belonged. Eventually, all his ingredients were assembled and loaded into the wagon.

"Not gonna have enough time to cook it as long as I want to, Scott. Hope it turns out alright."

"Remy, you're cooking for a dozen men who have been working nonstop since daybreak, not your toughest crowd." He paused taking a moment to glance back into the wagon bed to make sure everything was secure. "I'm convinced it will be the best thing these boys have eaten in days," he added. The wagon lurched forward with a snap of the reins.

"Sure do like it here, Scott. You have a nice family. Can't say I'm too fond of your cook, but she sure does keep a stocked pantry. Ain't never had so much to pick from."

"She does take pride in her kitchen," Scott said as he held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "And she does get just a bit overprotective of it at times." He finished with a wink. "You're in good company, however. You should hear things when Teresa insists on having her own way. Best solution is to turn around quietly and quickly walking in the other direction."

Remy laughed. "I hope I can remember that before I get caught up in the fray."

"Oh, don't you worry. Once you hear them you'll remember, trust me."

"I do, Scott."

"You do what?"

"Trust you. And I want a thank you for everything you've done, new clothes, a place to stay, makin' things right in town and maybe - a job." The young man looked at Scott; the intensity in his green eyes matched his sincere expression.

"You're welcome, Remy," Scott said with a firm pat to the kid's knee. He found himself liking this young man. There was something comfortably familiar about him. He was a study in contrasts, half man - half boy, confident yet not cocky, innocent yet not naive. Perhaps it had something to do with his infectious smile, rarely seen but when glimpsed it melted away all traces of uncertainty. Or was it his unruly mop of dark hair? There was little physical resemblance beyond the hair, but at times Scott could swear he saw a young Johnny hidden behind green eyes and well-set frame.

"So, do you think your brother will see things the same as you?"

"I expect so, Remy. He does like good food."

"Hope so, I'd really like to stay here a while." He squirmed in his seat as the wagon pitched from side to side.

"Imagine you'd rather be riding a horse than sitting a wagon."

"To be truthful, I ain't no good at riding horses. Like 'em, just never had much chance for ridin'. My Pa, he don't ride on account he has a game leg, so we travel by wagon. Sure do want to see your brother fix that horse though. Do you think he can do it?"

"He's not sure, Remy. According to Murdoch, Joker was in a barn fire and hasn't been the same since. Six horses died, one was saved. Lou thinks he was spared for a reason which is why he can't part with him.

"Aw shucks, you made it seem like your brother could break anything. My Pa, he knew a boy once that could do just that, break any horse there ever was. Said he never seen anything like it, before or since. Was born with it, never even had a horse till he was maybe twelve and took to 'em like flies to shit, uhm, I mean manure."

Scott laughed softly at Remy's slip. "It's quite all right, Remy. Just not in front of Teresa or you'll get an earful from Murdoch and not in front of Maria or you'll feel the wrath of her wooden spoon. You were lucky this morning she didn't catch you. Perhaps your luck is changing already."

"Maybe," he said with a grin."

"You do realize, Remy, Joker does not need breaking. It's a completely different thing to settle a bucker, mostly groundwork and there are few guarantees."

"Well, if he don't think he can do it... It's just that you talked about him just like my step father talked about the kid he knew. Would have been a sight to see, I imagine." Disappointment edged Remy's words and he sat quietly as the wagon wound its way up the hillside. When he spoke again all traces of excitement in his voice were gone. "My Pa, he says, ya either got it or ya don't and it's up to a man to know his limitations and practice accordingly."

"Your step father sounds like a very smart man."

"He is."

"It may not be Johnny's limitations that are being practiced, Remy. A horse like that can turn on a man at any moment. And even if Johnny could fix him, as you put it, he'd probably only be fixed for a seasoned rider and he may never be a horse a man could count on in a pinch. Anyone else to jump on his back could pay a very dear price. No, Joker might always be a very poor choice for a livery horse." Scott stopped speaking for a moment and cast a sidewise glance toward his passenger. "Remy, just why are you so interested in Joker?"

"Not sure. Felt kind a bad for him, kept at the end of the stable, away from the other horses. He was real anxious for me to come near. Wasn't bothered by my smell even nuzzled me, he seemed gentle enough. Nothing like Lou said. I got to figuring maybe it was Lou who was afraid a him and that's what made Joker crazy. My Pa, he says a horse knows when a man's afraid. Anyway, probably should a taken him out of his stall but figured I'd catch hell for that so I started ta clean up around him. He was fine till I hit the wall with the pitch fork hard enough to get it stuck. The sound got him a little jumpy and then when I pulled it out I fell back and bumped into him. It wasn't Joker's fault, Scott. And then Lou got ta yellin' and grabbin' the fork and well you know the rest." Remy stopped for a minute and picked at his hands. When he spoke again his voice was soft and rueful. "Just felt bad for him, is all."

Scott nodded as they crested the hill and peered into the valley. Low clouds clung to the surrounding mountains carrying the threat of rain but there was a clear view of the valley, littered with cattle. It had been the previous year's undertaking to clear it of brush and trees. That was a job Scott didn't care to repeat. Starting with the episode it triggered in Johnny and ending with those infernal thorns. All that, made this year's task much less daunting. To the left and right lay the small patches of dense woods. At least that was the case a week ago. Now it was easy to see many trees had been removed from the left side. However, a huge task still loomed ahead.

Reining the wagon to a stop, Scott pointed out to Remy where they were headed then began the slow descent. The wagon load slid forward as they made their way down the steep embankment toward the lumber camp. "Hope this turns out alright," Remy murmured softly.

Scott smiled to himself, saying nothing.

When they arrived in camp two things pleased Scott. First, the camp was empty. They'd gotten a later start than hoped for and he'd feared the men would already be trying to throw together a lunch, taking into account their early start. Second, the camp was well thought out. Why he expected any less from his brother made no sense but he was pleased nevertheless. Johnny hadn't cut the camp bare. Instead it remained wooded and sheltered from the winds that could chill a man to the bone and, for Scott's benefit, sheltered from curious eyes. Only flashes of colored shirts could be seen through the thicket of trees. The repetitive thud of axe hitting timber was accompanied by the warble of the saw. These sounds were intermingled with the staccato shouts of men, men at ease working together and drowned out by the occasional crack and thunder of a falling tree.

Their seclusion would give Remy time to get things ready. All Johnny had to do was taste his food and there would be no trouble convincing him to take the young man on. He was certain Murdoch had been right. His brother probably did consider him a liability and had decided against Remy's help. Johnny could be superstitious at times, and who could blame him after all the boy's mishaps in Spanish Wells.

As the morning wore on a fine mist filled the air, adding to the chill. One by one the men ambled into camp looking tired and hungry, the prospect of a descent meal slim, by their estimation, no doubt. If there was one thing Johnny tended to be short sighted about, it was the preparation of food. He could eat with reckless abandon whenever food was laid before him but he rarely thought of stopping work to eat. It wasn't that he demanded the same from his crew, he simply didn't think about it.

The scent of fresh cut wood gave way to tomato stew, corn fritters and fresh coffee. Entering the camp each man stretched out his back, sniffed deeply then smiled. Wordlessly they moved in for chow. Scott sat perched on a nearby rock watching the men scoff down their meal and head back for seconds, the second time their smiles even wider and with renewed vigor in their step.

Johnny and Charlie were the last to roam in, deep in conversation. Stu walked over to meet them, plate in hand.

"Gotta hand it to ya, Johnny. You and your brother sure know how to take care of the hired help. Best chow I've had since… shit since never."

Placing a hand on Charlie's shoulder, Johnny directed him toward the food while looking at Scott.

Pinching his hat from his head, Scott fingered its crease, before returning it to his head and meeting his brother's gaze. Johnny's expression was impossible to read.

"Coffee?" Scott lifted the pot and poured, offering his brother the cup.

With his hands planted firmly on his hips, Johnny glowered. "You blindsided me Scott, what if I didn't want him here? Now, you've left me no choice."

"Suit yourself." Scott shrugged as he set the cup of coffee down on the rock. "What I don't get is what's not to want? The kid just had a bad day. You can't hold a bad day against him, we've all had them."

"I suppose, Scott. Still, this is a dangerous place for a kid and now - how can I say no? Look at them." Johnny nodded his head toward the men. "Charlie and Stu haven't quit complaining all day, leastwise not till now. You've left me no choice."

"He's a good kid and deserves a chance. Besides, he's a damn good cook."

"How would do you know?" Johnny asked. "You try it?"

"Thought I'd let the boys dig in first but if it's half has good as the breakfast you missed we are in for a treat. I wouldn't be surprised if Murdoch's still smiling."

"You don't say." Johnny was no longer looking at his brother but at the boy and inhaling deeply. His hand moved to rub his belly. "That good, huh?" His voice trailed off as he drifted closer.

"That good, Brother," Scott said, following close behind.

Johnny approached the young cook, wiped his hand on his pants and offered it. "Hi, I'm Johnny."

Remy looked from Johnny to Scott and back again. "And people say me and my sister don't look alike. Think you two got a leg up on us." He took Johnny's hand. "Sorry 'bout that. Real glad to meet ya, Johnny."

With a finger the dark haired Lancer pushed back his hat. The small beads of mist that had formed pooled together and rolled off onto his back but he showed no reaction to the cold water. "We get that a lot," he said, studying the young man through narrow eyes. Neither one moved for a long minute. Johnny stood relaxed the kid tense and twitchy. Scott watched and waited. He was ready to move the moment along when Johnny broke into a wide grin. "Sure am hungry, any chance of getting somethin' to eat around here?"

"Straight away." Remy jumped into action and handed Johnny a steaming plate. "Hope you like it."

"I will," was Johnny's flat reply. He took his plate and moved back to the rock, leaning heavily against it, he sighed before digging in.

"Well, I gotta hand it to you, Scott, the boy can cook. Who would a figured, a tough looking kid like that knowin' his way around a kitchen? Guess I can put up with a little bad luck, like this weather." He looked up. A slow rain was taking over for the mist. "Hoped we could get this day done before the rain sets in, but it ain't lookin' too good."

"Is there much left to do? I mean will you be ready for the railroad when they arrive?"

"I know what ya meant." Johnny set down his plate and he flicked the now cold coffee into the dirt. "We could probably make 'em happy right now," he said while refilling his cup. "Near as I can figure, six more otta fill out the wagons. Four are down and trimmed but still need buckin' and loading. Two more need cuttin'." After blowing away the steam, he took a sip. Scott watched, waiting for the smile that everyone seemed to get after tasting Remy's coffee. There was no smile.

Johnny stiffened and looked into the dark liquid. His face was one of displeasure. "What the hell? Can't drink this shit," he said with a shiver. "Your boy ain't perfect, Scott." He pitched it into dirt with the first cup's remains. "Would rather drink Val's coffee."

"You're the first one Johnny. Everyone else liked it."

"In case ya hadn't noticed, I ain't like everyone else," he snapped. "Tell him he can cook for the men, but I want regular coffee, none of this vanilla and cinnamon shit. Ya hear me?"

Stunned, Scott was quiet for a moment. "But, how…"

He didn't get to finish. Johnny spun on his heels and whistled loudly. "Back to work," he shouted.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Scott was puzzled by his brother's sudden irritation. It was unlikely to be simply the coffee. He watched Johnny move to each man and hurry him along with a biting tone and a frosty stare. In an attempt to quiet his agitation, Scott stepped forward and placed a hand on Johnny's arm. He stopped, his eyes warmed and he appeared about to speak. Then with the swiftness of a breath, it was gone. His eyes turned an icy blue and he jerked his arm free. Wordlessly he strode out of camp, but not before grabbing his rig from Barranca and fastening it securely around his hips.

Tension filled the air in sharp contrast to the earlier camaraderie. Johnny's commands were obeyed and the men began moving about, readying for work. They piled their plates onto Remy's waiting hands and gathered up their tools. One more piercing whistle split the air causing the men to move faster. When the bustle was over only Scott and Remy remained in camp.

"Least I can't break these," Remy groaned softly to Scott, a weak smile trying to form on his lips. "Too bad that's the only good thing. And you thought my luck was changing."

"What do you mean? They picked those plates clean. Told you they weren't going to be a tough audience."

"Yeah, all but the one that mattered, your brother." Scott watched the young man's face fall. "He didn't finish and he sure didn't cotton to my coffee. Sorry about that." The stack of tin plates shifted, threatening to topple, as his shoulders drooped. "Almost thought he was gonna shoot me there for a minute. What with that look he gave when he strapped on his gun. Guess I should find me another town. Don't reckon there's anyone left in that last one willin' to hire me."

"Nonsense, Remy," Scott said with a grin. "Johnny said yes. All he asks, is that you not make your coffee and…"

Triumph replaced defeat in the young man's eyes. He danced a quick jig sending the tin plates clattering to the ground while whooping loudly. "Really? You mean it? I can stay on? Thank you, Scott, thank you," he rejoiced, squeezing Scott's arms just above the elbows.

"Now, you need to realize it's not going to be easy." Scott pried Remy's hands free. "This cooking business is hard work. Days start early and run late and you have to learn to clean up after yourself."

"I know. I know. And I can do it too, just watch me."

"I plan to, only not now." Scott removed his gloves from his belt and, giving them his full attention, pulled them on. "Now, I'm going to help out there." He pointed beyond the trees. "And you, you're going to clean up this mess."

"You ain't gonna help me?" Remy swallowed hard and looked around at the disarray.

"Afraid not, Boy. You need to show me you can do it or I'll be the one to send you packing."

"But…"

"No, buts." Scott wagged his finger. "Clean and pack everything away into the wagon, then come and find me. We'll head back to Lancer together."

Scott took off through the trees in search of his brother. Johnny was heard long before he was spotted.

"Damn it, Ramón! Look at this tree. It's hanging from the other tree's branches, not up, not down." Johnny was in the man's face. "You know what they call that? A widow-maker. Got any idea why? Cuz they're dangerous that's why. You gotta plan where the damn thing's gonna fall. Not hack away without thinking. A man could get killed. You won't be havin' too good a time in town tonight if that happens. now will ya?"

"No, Johnny. Lo siento. It won't happen again."

"Vea que no lo hace o usted buscará el trabajo a otra parte. ¿Se entiende eso?"

"Si, Senor," Ramón responded, his head bowed.

Scott wasn't certain what Johnny said, but he was certain it wasn't good. And there was another thing he was certain of, something was most definitely bothering his brother.

"Get those tarpaulins over these two wagons. Let's try to keep this wood dry. Don't suppose it matters much but I imagine they'll use any excuse to cut the price." He turned, meeting Scott's gaze. "Damn rain! Everything's gonna rust." Then as quickly as that, he moved on, continuing his outburst. "Get movin' before it pours!"

Several long strides caught Scott up to his brother. He stood directly behind him and spoke softly. "Johnny, I don't think rushing is smart. This is dangerous enough without pushing the men. You were working so well together before lunch, what happened?"

Johnny swung around with fire in his eyes. "Why don't you go help your kitchen boy clean up and leave this to me? We've been doing fine all week. You bring that kid in here and all hell breaks loose."

"I don't believe it is Remy, Johnny. I think it's you."

His words fell on deaf ears. Johnny had already moved on, inspecting the third wagon load.

"Okay, who the hell put this one in the wagon," he shouted, pointing at a log that was clearly too small. "Anyone can see it's too damn small! Twelve inch diameter! Twelve inch!" He held up his hands about a foot apart. "Does everyone know how big that is? The deal is for a wagonload of twelve inch diameter logs or bigger." He moved his hands wider apart. "Not smaller." He moved his hands closer together. "Just one of this size brings the price of the whole load down. We need to pull all these off to get to it. Not that we have time, since you're all so damned fired up to get to town. Stu, Benito get over here."

The two men hurried over and stood on either side of Johnny. Scott leaned on the wagon bed, his arms crossed, watching and listening.

"The way I see it, eight logs need to come off, then the small one." Using chalk Johnny marked the ones to be removed. "We're gonna do this the same way we put 'em on. By the time we get these eight back in we should have another ready to replace the small one. Then we'll be done and can call it a day." He placed a friendly hand on Stu's shoulder and in a calmer voice said, "You and the others will still have plenty of time to get into town." Pushing off, he climbed into the wagon and on top of the stacked logs.

These were not your typical Lancer wagons. They belonged to the railroad, designed for hauling lumber and were more substantial than the average wagon. Ironwood was used wherever possible. They had oversized wheels, rigid metal supports, and higher sides. The sides went up nearly five feet from the bed of the wagon and could support a tremendous amount of weight.

Johnny balanced himself as he walked the length of a log while tying a slip knot in one end of a rope. Turning on his toes, he looked down on his brother with a scowl. "You gonna help or just stand there looking pretty?"

"I'm here to help, Johnny. I'll get this side." He held out his hand to catch the other end of the rope. "And we'll take it slow," Scott cautioned as he climbed onto the tailgate.

Bending deeply, Johnny wrapped his loop of the rope around the far end. Scott did the same at his end. Using a chain, hung over a sturdy branch on the spar tree for leverage, they hooked the rope and, with the horses, raised the log off the pile then lowered it to the ground.

The process was slow. Steps were repeated in silence and Johnny's irritation seemed to give way to concentration. By the time they reached the offending log the rain had picked up its pace. It now dripped off the branches and puddles were starting to form in the mud. Johnny looped the rope around his end as did Scott and the log began its ascent. Pleased with their progress Johnny visibly relaxed and smiled at his brother. Removing his hat he wiped the rain from his eyes with his forearm. "Thanks, Scott. Sorry I got so hot headed before. Don't know what got into me."

"Think nothing of it, Brother. It's forgotten." It wasn't of course, but now was neither the time nor the place. Scott could be a very patient man.

For an instant a horse lost its footing in the mud. Not much, but enough to get the log swinging. As the men tried to stop its motion they had the opposite effect. It slammed into the side of the wagon causing the remaining logs to shift position and roll down into the spot just vacated.

The cry that ensued was calm but at the same time alarming. "Shit! Get them off me, get them off, now."

Johnny's foot was in that spot - now joined by three large logs. He was bent over holding his calf, his face red with pain. Immediately Scott reacted. Shouting orders and taking control. "Miguel, Ramón, Clem, get over here now. In seconds the three men arrived and steadied the swinging log, helping to lower it to the ground.

"We need to get this rope around those logs, all at once if we can. Ramón, climb up in the front of the wagon and see if you can manage it. It's easier from Johnny's angle but I don't want anyone on those logs. I've got this end. We'll need two more horses. This load will be heavy." He paused in his commands to gentle his voice. "You doing okay, Johnny?"

"Get this off of me and I'll be just fine, Scott," he replied through gritted teeth.

Scott looked around and then up at the spar tree. "We need another rope," he shouted. "Toss it up over that limb so he can use it to pull himself out. Hurry!" He paused again to look at his brother. "You can do that, right Johnny? As much as I want to be up there to pull you free it might send another log down once things get moving."

Pain resonated in Johnny's eyes. He ran his tongue across his lips and he nodded. "I can do it, Scott."

"Good," Scott said with a smile. "We're just about ready."

He looked around one more time. Checking the ropes and eyeing the men as they hitched up the extra horses. One wrong move could send more logs skittering down onto his brother. "Everything in place?"

Each man answered in the affirmative.

"We're going to take it slow. No sudden movements. Okay, Johnny, as soon as you feel the slightest release in pressure you pull."

Johnny wrapped the rope around his hand and placed his other hand on the side of the wagon. He waited.

"On three." Scott raised his arm in the air and counted with words and fingers. "One – Two – Three."

The horses gained their footing and moved slowly forward. The chain drew taught and began to raise the logs. At the first sign of movement Johnny began to wiggle his foot until he finally had enough room to pull it free. Using the rope, he swung his legs over the tall wagon side. Scott and Stu stood ready to catch him as he slid down. He put an arm around each man's shoulders.

"Damn it Johnny, whatcha go and do a fool thing like that for? Now ya can't come to town with us. That faro table had your name on it, I just know it did."

"Stu!" rebuked Scott. "Another time." He then turned toward his brother. "Let's get you out of the way and take a look at that. Do you think it's broken?"

"Nope. Don't hurt bad enough."

"Johnny, you can't tell by that. And you know it."

"Just give me a few minutes, Scott. If I can walk on it, it ain't broke." He flashed his brother a carefree smile, but his eyes told a different story.

"I'm not so sure Sam would agree with your medical diagnosis."

"Yeah well, I don't see him around here. Do you?"

"Not yet, but I'm willing to bet he will be."

They eased Johnny onto a tree stump and Scott moved to take off his boot.

"Don't touch it," Johnny hissed. "Ya know damn well this thing's gonna swell up. How the hell do you suggest I get it back on? Or will you have me walking around in the cold mud, shoeless?"

"What I think, is you need to stay off it all together. At least until we get Sam. What do you say; we get you in the wagon and head into Spanish Wells. Sam can take a look and we can still bring Willie back in time for dinner." Scott smiled, proud of his plan.

Johnny shook his head. "Nope, ain't gonna work. One of us needs to be here. We have to sign the paperwork, unless of course you don't want to get paid." His crew was gathered around looking at him and talking amongst themselves. "What cha lookin' at?" He barked. "Get those logs back in the wagon, cover the load and get the hell outta here. You're done."

The men worked fast to finish the job then packed it in and mounted up, all except Stu and Charlie. "Johnny, me and Charlie bin talkin' and decided we'd wait for them railroad people. One of us can sign for ya. You go with Scott and get yourself fixed up. We can go into town later or tomorrow night, even."

"Nope. I want ya to go. You worked hard today and all I did was chew ya out after lunch. Just don't go losing that fifteen bucks ya owe me, Stu, and I'll be fine." He winced, trying for the first time to put weight on his leg then sat back down. "Won't I, Scott?"

The men looked at Scott and he nodded for them to go.

Trying hard to control the grins that threatened to show on their faces the men quickly backed away. "Well… if you say so." Stu spoke as he moved toward his horse. "Wouldn't want ta make the bosses mad or nothin', now would we Charlie."

"Nope, never a good idea, Stu."

"Thanks, Johnny, Scott." They nodded to each man then mounted up and sped off. Their cries of yee-haw brought a smile to both the Lancers.

"That goes for you too Scott," Johnny said as he stretched to grab hold of a nearby tree branch. Using it to stand he looked at his brother. "Out a here. You got a pretty girl waiting. The men ain't going to Green River by way of Spanish Wells and since you're all fired up to get Sam, even though I don't need him, then you might as well be the one to do it."

"Look, Johnny. We can stay, you me and Remy. It shouldn't be too much longer. They were expected hours ago."

"That's what I'm tryin' to tell you Scott, it's getting late. Willie may be a good woman and all but I don't think she'd take too kindly to being stood up."

"At least I'd have a good excuse. She might skin me alive if she thought for one second I left you out here alone and hurt."

"It's not that bad, Scott, really. See, I can even walk on it with barely a limp. And I'll hardly be alone. Those wagons will probably show up before you ride out of sight."

"Barely a limp? Is that what you call it?" Scott raised his hand to halt Johnny's next words. "I know, I know, you've had worse." A grin spread across Scott's face. "If I go, at least Remy could stay. Keep you company…"

"No! Don't want him here. Take him."

"It's not negotiable, Johnny."

"He's bad luck, Scott. Him and that coffee, bad luck."

"Johnny! This wasn't his fault. It was an accident. How on earth could he or his coffee have had anything to do with it?"

"I said take him, Scott. Don't want him here. Didn't want him here in the first place. Sure don't need no more bad luck now."

"Take it easy Johnny. It's not like you to get this upset. What's gotten into you?"

"A lot of things. This rain for one, and I swear, if I heard mention of that damn faro table one more time I would a rode straight into Green River and shot that dealer right between the eyes. And this." He motioned to his leg. "I feel like a damn fool. How could I have been so stupid?" He swallowed hard, in obvious pain after trying to put more weight on it."

"Ya do know you shouldn't be walking on it. Right?" The soft voice startled both men. Together they turned to look at Remy standing a few yards away. A bucket dangled from his arms. "I fetched some water from the stream yonder. It's real cold, even had a few ice chucks till floatin' in it. Just might help with the swelling if'n you have enough sense to sit down."

"And just how would you know that, kid?" Johnny spoke with derision.

"My Ma. She used to help the doctor in our town. I learned a few things. Learned enough ta know ya don't go walkin' 'round on a leg that just might be broken for starters." He stood there looking from Scott to Johnny, the handle of the bucket clenched in his fists.

Scott waved him forward. "Well, come on over here then. He's testy but he won't hurt you. Will you Johnny?"

Johnny glared at his brother then released a loud sigh of resignation. "No, I won't hurt ya, kid," he drawled.

"The wagon packed up, Remy?" Scott asked.

"Yes, Sir, all set."

"Good, I'll bring it over." A self-satisfied smile slid across his face. "We'll get you in it, Johnny, and we'll wait. We'll all wait." Switching his attention to Remy he added, "Maybe you'll have better luck getting his boot off." Scott's long legs averted a puddle as he strode away sputtering to himself. "Damn brother, most stubborn thing on two legs. Make that one leg, at the moment. How could he possibly think we would simply ride off and leave him alone? Guess that's what he was used to, once, but no more. You'd think by now he'd have that figured out."

Entering the camp Scott was pleased to see it in order. The kid was trying. Too bad Johnny saw him as some kind of bad luck. It appeared the kid was more than trying. A small fire still smoldered and a full pot of coffee was perched on a rock placed in its center. Scott grabbed the pot and kicked dirt over the coals. Climbing into the wagon he noticed three tin cups resting on the seat. He poured a small taste and didn't know whether to be pleased or unhappy. It was plain old coffee, just as Johnny requested. He placed the pot on the floorboard and with one final glance around encouraged the horses forward.

Thankfully the rain had slowed to a drizzle, not that it made much difference. Each one of them was soaked to the bone, in need of dry clothes and a warm fire. At least the coffee would help warm their insides. Casting a glance to the horizon Scott was relieved to see the empty wagons winding their way down the trail. Their progress was slow. It would be near an hour before they arrived.

Once Scott pulled up the wagon and caught sight of his brother all thought switched to concern. Johnny sat on the muddy ground, back against the stump his leg resting on a piece of scrap lumber. Gone were the 'I'm okay' smirks, the hostility and the attempts to convince everyone he was all right. These were replaced by a rigid back, eyes squeezed shut and short intakes of breath, all attesting to his intense pain. Remy had succeeded in removing Johnny's boot and unbuttoning his conchos to the knee. Both foot and calf were red and swollen, despite the icy rags Remy applied.

"I don't know, Johnny, your leg's not looking too good. What we need to do is get you situated in the wagon so we can head back as soon as we sign over the shipment. The wagons are on their way. I saw them. They should be here in less than an hour." There was no reaction so Scott knelt close. "Can you hear me, Johnny? I said…"

Johnny cracked open one eye. "I can hear ya Scott. Nothin' wrong with my ears." He stiffened again, hissing in pain. "Damn, should never have stopped moving, it was just fine as long as I was up."

Remy shook his head at Johnny's remark. "Is he always like this?"

"Yup," replied Scott. He stood, alerted by the sound of a fast approaching horse.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Before the rider was within range, Scott heard the familiar click of Johnny pulling back the hammer of his gun. "I've got this, Johnny," Scott said. His eyes firmly fixed on the advancing rider.

"We've both got this, Scott," Johnny snapped.

Without coming to a full halt the rider dismounted. Dark eyes immediately settled on Johnny sitting in the mud, gun drawn, face hardened. The rider held his hands away from the flare of his rain poncho in a conciliatory manner. "Sorry to come up on ya so fast. I'm with the railroad and I heard ya had a man down."

"You heard?" Scott asked.

"Yeah one of your men stopped us a ways back, said he was on his way to fetch a doctor."

Taking a step closer, Scott measured the stranger, a large robust man with red cheeks and a flat nose. "We sent no such man."

"Said he was one of yours, Ramiro, Ramón, hell, I don't remember his name. Said someone was hurt and he was going to town for the doc. Wanted us to move along so you could get back to the ranch. Appears he spoke the truth," he said nodding his head toward Johnny.

"Ramón, he's a good man." Scott released a tense breath. He was a little surprised. Out of all the men, Ramón was the one to go for help. Johnny had gone toe to toe with him this afternoon. He was a good man indeed.

"So, which one of you is Lancer?"

"We both are. I'm Scott. That one, the man down, is Johnny. We're grateful."

"Name's Mason Smith." He extended a large hand toward Scott, a hand that rivaled Murdoch's in size. His eyes remained fixed on Johnny. "I've seen my share of the damage this kind of work can mete out. It's always best to get a man out of the elements. Damn rain will chill you to the bone." Mason continued to study Johnny. "Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, don't it?"

"Suppose you could say that," Johnny said, finally slipping his gun back into the holster.

"I can and I did. Shit, I remember when my brother got himself pinned under a runaway log…" He stopped. His eyes narrowed and he looked from one brother to the other. "Well, that was a different situation. He was trapped a long time. Your men work fast?" He asked Scott.

"They did. Less than thirty minutes, I'd say," Scott boasted.

"Good. That bodes well for you," he said, looking back at Johnny. "Too long and a man can lose a limb - or a life." There was a slump in the man's shoulders as he spoke and Scott feared that his 'situation', as he called it, did not turn out well.

Mason straightened and filled his barrel chest with a deep breath. "Hope you don't mind me taking charge, but it's what the railroad pays me for." He moved to his saddle bags and pulled out a familiar brown bottle. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger he wagged it at Johnny. "Looks like you'll be in need of this."

"I'm good," said Johnny with a cryptic smile. "Save it."

"If you're a lucky man, which by the looks a this you ain't, it won't be broke. Swelling like that makes it damned hard to tell, not to mention, hurt like hell. But if I've learned anything in this life, I've learned it pays to be careful. So you'll be gettin' a splint. Course then there's the lift into that wagon - both will be painful. I suggest you take some."

"And I said I'm good," Johnny shot back.

"Suit yourself, but you're in for a rough ride." He offered the bottle once more then shrugged when Johnny shook his head. "Makes no difference to me, might to your brother though." He glanced at Scott, no doubt wishing for some support but Scott knew enough to stay out of the discussion. When no encouragement came he slipped the bottle back where it came from. He stared into the dark abyss of his saddle bag then muttered, "Damn. I hate to see a man suffer." He pulled out a silver flask. "Got me some fine Irish whiskey from the best stocked bar in Modesto. Would be willin' to give it up for a good cause."

Johnny looked at the flask, ran his tongue across his lips and nodded. "That, I'll take."

"Thought maybe you might," Mason said passing the liquor to Johnny. "It should dull the pain and warm you up. Least it's something."

Unscrewing the lid Johnny took a long pull, dragged his sleeve across his mouth and handed the flask back to Mason. "Much obliged."

"Keep it. You're gonna be needing it a whole lot more than me, I'm afraid." He scanned the muddy ground. "Hey kid, make yourself useful. Those, right there, will do fine for a splint," he said pointing to a couple of straight branches. "Go get' em," he ordered.

Remy quickly obeyed.

"It was a good idea to get the cold water, might have helped with the swelling. Be in need of some of those rags you've been using too," Mason barked.

Scott knelt beside his brother. "How are you doing? Sure you don't want that laudanum, Johnny?"

"I'm just fine, 'specially with this." He held up the flask and took a mouthful. "If I was you, think I'd be more worried about Willie. She was expectin' you tonight. It's never a good idea to keep your woman waitin'."

"I think she'll understand, Johnny."

Greedily Mason snatched what Remy offered. "And now, you can fetch some smaller boughs, with needles and twigs. Pile them up in the tail of the wagon so he can put his leg up on 'em. At least he'll have some cushion from the jounce of the trail."

Johnny's hand squeezed tightly onto Scott's arm as Mason began to examine his foot and calf. Each press on swollen flesh elicited a reflexive jerk and a soft hiss. "I don't have gentle hands or a soothing bedside manner so you better buck up. A few more swigs might be in order." He gave the flask a firm push.

Scott nodded. "Drink up brother."

"If you say so. Just remember, if I show up at home drunk I'm tellin' Murdoch it's your fault."

Fingers gripped tighter as Mason set to task tightening the strips of rags. With a practiced hand he quickly secured the splint and stood. "The wagon ready?" he asked Remy.

"Yes, it's ready, Sir."

"Are you ready, Johnny?" Scott asked.

Only a nod came from his brother which was enough for Mason. He was quick but not gentle and even though Johnny didn't utter a sound, Scott had a pretty good idea what his brother was going through.

"Oh, best not forget." Mason reached up under his poncho and removed several sheets of paper. He passed them to Scott. "Here, look 'em over and sign the bottom. I'll inspect the load and we're all set until next week."

Mason lifted the covering on all three wagons and nodded his approval. He then plucked the papers from Scott's hand. "Your man in Modesto will be notified when payment is ready," he said. "You take it slow, wagons don't respond well in this mud. That's why we're so late, been following this rain since we left the rail."

"We're grateful, Mr. Smith. Perhaps you and your men would like to come back to Lancer, possibly stay the night and head out in the morning."

"Thank you, no. We're behind enough as it is."

"If I were you I'd reconsider. Those wagons are heavy, you'd probably make better time tomorrow morning, when things have had a chance to dry out." Scott cast his eyes to the evening sky. "Looks like its clearing, but it's getting colder." He pulled his jacket tighter and glanced at his brother. He was leaning back against a sack of flour, his foot resting on the mound of branches. His eyes were squeezed shut and the muscles in his cheek rippled against the pain.

"You might be right, perhaps we should take advantage, makes little sense to push on through this." Mason toed the oozing sludge.

"Leave all the wagons here and bring the horses. Trade off in the morning. You'll find Lancer over the crest of that hill and down the trail. You can't miss us."

Running a finger across the brim of his hat Mason nodded then mounted. Scott watched the man ride off and climbed into the wagon. Remy followed, sitting on Johnny's side. "I can handle the wagon, do it all the time with my Pa. Maybe you want to be in back with your brother."

"That's kind of you, Remy, but there's hardly enough room for one man, your gear and his foot rest. If I knew we'd be bringing back an injured man I would have brought the full size wagon, instead of this one."

"Maybe you should have planned ahead, since you brought the damned kid along." Johnny's words were hard and full of pain. Obviously the whiskey hadn't kicked in yet. Scott was sure it wouldn't take long, since Johnny did not eat much of his lunch and hadn't eaten any breakfast. "Just get this thing moving, Scott."

"Remy made some more coffee, care for a cup? Might warm you up. You could mix it with some of that whiskey."

"Naw, thinkin' I'm doin' just fine. This here whiskey's goin' down real easy. Won't be long 'fore I ain't feelin' a damn thing. Maybe I should be grateful, huh?"

"There you go, Brother, always looking for that bright side." Scott slapped the reins and the wagon jerked into motion. A hiss of pain accompanied the jolt. "Sorry about that. I'm afraid this won't be a smooth ride."

"It's all right, Brother, think I can get used to it, seein' as I have ta." He took another long pull from the flask and finished with a loud contented ah.

"Don't think I've ever seen two brothers so different. I mean you don't even talk the same. How's that possible? My sister and me, we don't look alike but there's things we do the same, things that make people know we grew up together. But you two got nothing."

"That's simple. We didn't grow up together. I was raised in Boston. Do you know where Boston is, Remy?"

"Think so. Real far away, for sure."

"Yes, Remy, real far away," Scott said with a chuckle. "And Johnny here, he spent most of his early years in Mexico."

"I know Mexico." Remy said proudly.

"Yes, I imagine you do."

"I bet you two work real good together though. Pa he always said me and Reba, we work like a coyote and a badger. You ever heard that before, Scott?"

"No, can't say that I have," Scott answered casting a glance back at his brother. It appeared the whiskey was having its desired effect. The tell-tale muscles in his cheeks no longer twitched against the pain and he looked relaxed, his body following the motion of the wagon, not tensing against it. "Johnny, you ever heard that?"

"Hmmm, Scott? Heard what?"

"Working together like a coyote and a badger, you ever hear of that?"

"Shit ya, Scott. Everyone has. One does shit one way… other does shit different… together they catch food. Badgers dig - coyotes run. Don't starve cuz they work off what the other does best."

"That sounds a little like the way we do things. Which one am I?"

"Well, Scott, I tell ya. Ain't no one wants ta be the badger. Ain't that right Remy?" Johnny sat up and gingerly touched his leg. "Would ya look at that? Shit, I ain't gonna be doin' much for a while." He leaned back on the sack of flour smacking his lips together then fumbling around for the flask. He found it and drank thirstily. "Damn I'm starvin'. Got any grub back here?"

"I got some fritters left. They're wrapped in a cloth, tucked up inside the cooking pot."

Leaning forward Johnny stretched toward the pot, which was on the opposite side of the wagon near the tail. After several awkward attempts he shifted around into a better position while still keeping his leg up. Finally he managed to barely touch the pot with the tips of his fingers.

"Damn," he growled.

"Here, let me help you," Remy said as he started to climb into the back of the wagon.

"No!" Johnny raised his hand. "Don't need no help. Sit down for ya land on me." No sooner had Remy turned around and found his seat than the wagon pitched heavily to the left. A move that would have most certainly sent Remy sailing into the back of the wagon had he not been instructed to stay put. The motion sent Johnny, who was propped on one elbow stretching to reach his intended snack, sliding toward the back of the wagon. He managed to grab hold of a corner of the cloth before the cooking pot rolled off the back and into the mud. He pushed up with a broad grin oblivious to the fact that he very nearly rolled off the back of the wagon himself and obviously feeling absolutely no pain.

"Got it!" He whooped pushing himself upright.

"Johnny!" Scott yelled pulling the horses to a stop. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I's hungry, Scott. Want one?" He smiled offering up the tightly bound bundle.

"I think you'd better hand me that whiskey, much more and you'll be trying to walk home. And Remy get that pot and make sure nothing else is going to fall out."

"Sure thing, Scott, but there ain't none left." Johnny pouted. "Sorry, but there wan't nuf ta share."

He leaned back, concentrating on untying the knot that was keeping him from his food. Finally succeeding he bit voraciously into a fritter. "What was we takin' 'bout?" he mumbled with a mouthful.

Remy climbed back in apologizing. "I had to move things around ta make room. Wasn't as careful as I should a been. I'm sorry"

Scott opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

"I said, what wuz we talkin' ' bout?" Johnny repeated a little louder this time. "Oh ya, badgers and coyotes. Ya know I lived with a man a spell; he used to say this silly poem. Shit, I ain't thought a that for a dog's age but think I kin 'member it.

Coyote and badger hunt as a pair. When working together there's nev'r despair. When all's done and there's no more ta eat if the coyote's smart he's the last on his feet. Yup, that'sit," Johnny said proudly.

"That doesn't make it sound too good to be the badger."

"Din't I just tell ya that, Scott? It teaches ya somethin', though. Teaches ya ta be careful, teaches ya that just cuz someone is workin' 'long side ya don't mean he should be trusted. Teaches ya ta take 'vantage of a man."

"You know, Little Brother, I wish we knew each other as kids, maybe you could have missed out on some of those hard lessons."

"Oh, I don't know, Scott. It's what makes me me and you you." Johnny yawned. "Besides, with me around you wouldn't have gotten any of the pretty girls."

"Now that's where you're wrong, Brother. Seems even with you around I've managed to get the prettiest girl in these parts."

"She sure is pretty," Remy said. "Wish I didn't mess up her place so bad."

"No worry, Remy. But if she figures out just how good a cook you really are she may try to steal you from us to make restitution. And that would not be a good thing."

"Not sure what rest, rest-i-tu-tion is but I'm not planning on going anywhere, if I can help it. I'm exactly where I hoped to be and that don't happen too often, not with my kind of luck."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Pacing, Murdoch walked the length of the veranda. The faintest glow could be seen in the western sky as the sun bid its farewell. It was the only time the sun had made an appearance all day. It cast a final bright blaze of color before slipping behind the mountains, leaving behind no lingering warmth, only a damp chill.

The men had returned from the camp some time ago. Carrying with them reports of Johnny being injured in some way, but there were few specifics and they did not act terribly concerned. Instead they busied themselves with preparations for town. They said Johnny made light of it, was walking around and sent them on their way, even Scott agreed. What Murdoch was fully aware of, however, was that his youngest son had a way of minimizing any injury and the longer they took getting back the more uneasy he became. The sensible side of him realized they needed to wait for the railroad's wagons leaving a ripple of hope that he was over reacting.

Unfortunately, there was another thing that concerned him. When he asked where Ramón was, no one knew. Said he was the first to take off, angry no doubt. Johnny had been in a nasty mood after lunch and took much of it out on Ramón. Fits of temper were rare for either of his sons unless there was a resounding reason and as far as Murdoch could tell, there wasn't one. Repeatedly Murdoch's thoughts went to the boy. He couldn't help but think some of this was Remy's fault. Things had, up until now, been going so well.

His unease turned to dread as he watched a surrey approach, Sam's surrey. The tightening in his chest lessened some at the sight of Willie, seated next to him.

"I get the distinct feeling this isn't a social call, Sam."

"You mean they're not here yet? Ramón was sure they would be back before us."

"Ramón?"

"Yes, he came and found me, Murdoch. He said Johnny's leg was crushed by some logs. We've had such a long stretch. You haven't needed me for months, not even the sniffles. I was getting used to it."

"Me too, Sam, me too." Murdoch moved to Willie's side of the surrey. "And you, Young Lady? I'm glad you're here. Scott will be too." He reached for her hand as she stepped from the carriage.

"Sam and I were together when Ramón came in, I hope you don't mind. I feel so much a part of this family; I felt my place was here."

A tender arm embraced her. "Willie, your place will always be here." He ushered her toward the door. "Teresa has done nothing all day but talk of your arrival. And, if I'm not mistaken, she has found an assortment of things in the attic to help with your, uhm, disaster.

"Ah, yes, that would be Remy. It was my understanding that Scott brought him back here; yet, I see the house is still standing. She paused for a moment, head tilting in thought. "You don't think he…"

"Say no more," Murdoch said with a raised hand. "I've thought the same thing." Casting a glance over his shoulder he added. "Suppose we'll find out soon enough, I think that's them now."

"Good, I'll let Teresa know," Willie said as she walked into the house.

The two men stood alone peering into the twilight at the approaching wagon. "Well, Sam, what do you think? Crushed doesn't sound good to me."

"No Murdoch, it doesn't to me either, but whatever it is we'll deal with it. Like we always do."

~*~*~*~

Much to Scott's relief they finally passed under the Lancer arch. What little sun they'd seen had slipped quickly behind the horizon and the tawny glow from the hacienda was a most welcome and warming sight. Why did it always seem to take longer to get home?

Johnny had talked incessantly. At least he had until a short time ago. He'd said little of value, offering no clues as to why he became so upset. Mostly he recited that damn poem, Remy was familiar with as well. This was mixed with comments about having no firewood in his room then adding between yawns that he wanted to stay on the couch, didn't want to be carted off to his room and left alone while everyone ate dinner. An unlikely prospect, him being left alone but the statement both comforted and concerned Scott for a variety of reasons. He finally settled on the fact that Johnny was drunk and a drunken Johnny, though rare, usually wanted company in one form or another.

An audible sigh of relief passed Scott's lips when he managed to make out Sam's surrey and he felt the pounding of his heart as the front door opened and he could see Willie's silhouette enter the hacienda. Pushing the horses faster, Scott just wanted to get his brother to Sam and find himself wrapped in Willie's embrace. "We're almost home, Johnny."

"Good, Scott, cuz I'm needin' some more ta drink." He shifted his position with a hiss. "Damn leg's startin'ta burn somethin' fierce."

"I'm not so sure Sam's going to offer you a drink, Johnny. I think you've had plenty."

"Where's Barranca? Got somethin' in my saddle bag." Johnny pushed up to look around. "Shit, Scott, when'd it get dark? Where's Barranca?"

"Barranca's all set. Miguel took him. He'll take good care of him."

"I'm thirsty, Scott."

"We have water and coffee, Johnny. Take your pick."

Remy turned around to pass back the canteen. Johnny batted it away. "Don't want any f… hey we're almost home," Johnny said, now able to see the arch from his position.

"I said that Johnny. Murdoch and Sam are waiting outside, it won't be long now."

"Good, Scott, cuz I'm needin' more ta drink."

"Yes, Johnny, I heard you the first time." Scott said while smiling at Remy. Being so close to home had relaxed the knot in his stomach.

Johnny draped himself over the side of the wagon. "Hey, Murdoch!" he shouted, "What's Sam doin' here? Tol' Scott I din't need him."

"I'll determine whether I'm needed or not, thank you very much," Sam huffed. "What did you get yourself into this time, Johnny?"

"Me? S'not my fault."

"Are you drunk, Johnny?" Sam asked as the wagon slowed to a stop.

"Scott," Murdoch groaned. "Don't tell me you let him drink?"

"Told ya it'd be your fault, Brother."

Scott opened his mouth to speak as he stepped carefully from the wagon but Sam interrupted. "Murdoch, never mind about that. They're wet and cold, I need him inside so I can have a look. And they all need to get dried off. That goes for you too, Young Man." Sam called to Remy as he jumped down. The ensuing jerk of the wagon elicited a loud groan from Johnny.

"Remy!" Scott shouted. "Be careful."

"I'm gonna get started on some food for Mr. Smith and his men." He took off behind the house, headed for the kitchen used by the hands. "Don't worry about me," he called back. "The cook fire will warm me right up."

"Remember what I told you, Remy. Clean up after yourself!" Scott shouted.

"Come on Johnny, let's get you inside," Murdoch urged.

"Whose idea was these branches?" Sam asked as he pulled them out of the back of the wagon. "It was a good one. And the splint?"

"We had some help from a man with the railroad. It's a long story but you'll get to meet him."

Johnny put an arm around each Lancer's shoulder.

"Careful. Careful." Sam advised. "How are you holding up, Johnny?"

A sharp intake of breath was his initial response as his good foot hit the ground. "Better if I ain't movin' and a lot better if I had more whiskey, Sam. Damn shit's worn off."

"Yes, well let's get you inside before I start doling out pain killer."

"Scott," Murdoch asked quietly, "Was this in anyway caused by the boy? Because if it was, I'd have to ask him to leave."

"No, Sir. It was an accident, an unfortunate accident."

"You're doing fine, Johnny. We'll have you upstairs in no time."

"Nope. Ain't goin' upstairs, Sam."

"About that, Sam, he's been pretty adamant, said he wants to stay down here on the couch."

"Yup, gonna stay right there." Johnny nodded toward the couch while leaning heavily into Murdoch. "Wanna be with everyone else. Where it's warm and I can hear your voices."

Sam glanced at Murdoch. "Whatever he wants, Sam," he said changing direction.

"Very well then. Teresa we'll need dry clothes and blankets. Some clean bandages to retie the splint, it appears to be getting tight." Johnny reclined on the sofa, his good leg pressed to the floor. Sam leaned forward to examine his patient's leg. He shook his head. "With this kind of swelling I'm not sure if I'll be able to do anything tonight."

"I'll be needin' some more of that whiskey now. This thing is startin' ta…" Johnny stiffened, his back arched to the pain. "Shit."

"You'll get no more alcohol, Young Man. It may have contributed to the severe swelling we're seeing. Willow bark tea is in order." Sam spoke as he took Johnny's pulse. His brow furrowed. "It's fast and you're perspiring. I'd prefer you took something stronger."

Johnny simply shook his head, gripping the back of the couch against another wave of pain. "It'll quit buckin'. Don't hurt like this all the time."

"I made the tea," Willie said as she emerged from the kitchen holding the teapot and cup in the folds of her dress. "It really should steep longer but…"

"Thank you, Willie." Murdoch offered a concerned smile as he took the pot from her hands.

With Johnny situated and receiving both Sam and Murdoch's full attention Scott stepped back. Teresa ran off upstairs to gather the items Sam requested.

"You need dry clothes too," Willie said. Scott felt the touch of her warm hands as they wrapped his waist. He spun into her embrace. Keeping his voice low he traced her cheekbones with his thumbs. "I'm warm enough now." Holding her close, he whispered, "Thank you for coming."

"How is he, Scott? He's certainly in a lot of pain and it's so swollen. I've never seen anything like it."

Arms laden, Teresa ran back down the stairs and gestured for Willie to take a blanket from the pile. Unfolding it, Willie placed it around Scott's shoulders. "If you won't go change at least you can be warm." Together they moved to the dining table, out of the way.

"If you saw it, Willie… I tell you, I'll be amazed if it isn't broken. Three huge logs rolled down right onto his leg. At first he blamed Remy, but the kid was nowhere in sight."

"Was it his fault, Scott? I know Murdoch was concerned. In fact, that's all I could think of during the ride out here. Is he somehow responsible?"

"Not directly, Willie. But he was responsible for the way Johnny's demeanor changed. It had something to do with his coffee, of all things. Johnny threw it out, said he'd rather drink Val's coffee."

"Val's coffee?" Willie swallowed back a laugh.

"Yes. Thing is he knew exactly what was in it. Obviously he's had it before."

"Did you ask him?"

"There was no talking to him, he was being unreasonable." Scott spread his arms then pulled the blanket closer. "When he finally calmed down this happened. It was an accident, Willie. A crazy accident, brought on by carelessness but none of it Remy's. I do have to wonder about the boy, though. Johnny certainly hasn't taken to him. Perhaps I was too hasty in bringing him here."

"By the looks of things, I don't think you'll need to worry about it, Scott. Johnny won't be working out there for a while, so Remy will be your problem, won't he?"

"I suppose you're right."

They watched as Sam snapped closed his bag and straightened, pressing his hands into the small of his back. "Well, Johnny, at this point it is impossible to tell for certain if the bone is broken. Not with all that swelling." He sighed and shook his head. "I do wish you'd stayed off it, and avoiding alcohol would have been best. My guess - a broken fibula along with deep bruising to the bone and soft tissue, which, considering the turn of events is about the best we can hope for. As for the ankle, I can't tell. It is too swollen, but I'm glad your friend from the railroad had enough wherewithal to splint it." Sam passed Johnny a cup of tea. "You're lucky Scott reacted so fast, trapped too long and the results could have been disastrous."

"Ain't feelin' lucky, Sam."

"No, I don't imagine you are. Drink up and try to rest."

Murdoch walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. He swallowed it in one gulp. "Thank you, Sam," he said filling his glass and two others, offering the doctor one of the glasses. "You'll stay for supper? Teresa and Maria have been cooking all day, knowing Willie was coming. With this misfortune the festive spirit may be gone but the company of friends and the good food remains." Concerned eyes traveled past Sam to his elder son. "Scott, get over here where it's warm." Murdoch extended his hand with the glass of amber liquor as if it were a prize. "Don't want both my boys out of commission. One is more than enough." Willie gave Scott a gentle shove and he moved closer to the flames, took the glass with a nod and sat on the hassock, facing his brother.

"And you, My Dear?" Murdoch asked Willie, holding up a bottle of his finest scotch, with a knowing grin. "Would you like a drink?"

"Oh, Murdoch, you do know me. I would love a little." She sighed. "It has been a rather trying couple of days."

"Sit right here in my chair," he said passing her the glass. The two of you can keep Johnny company." He looked out the French doors. "I imagine those horses are Smith and his men. Care to join me, Sam?"

"By all means, Murdoch." Sam set his drink on the mantle and followed his friend out the door.

"Oh, sure, everyone gets a drink but me. Told ya I wasn't feeling lucky," Johnny said as he sipped his tea, his face pinching at the bitter taste.

"You just drink your tea, Brother, or I'm sure Sam has something stronger in his bag. Some laudanum, perhaps? If you complain we could mix it with some of Remy's coffee. I hear that it hides the bittern…"

Johnny's face reddened as he attempted to push himself off the couch. "That's not funny, Scott!"

"Now, whoa there, Brother, I didn't mean anything by it." Scott looked to Willie who shook her head. "Is that it, Johnny? Is that why you…" He caught a momentary look in his brother's eyes, it was difficult to place. "Johnny," Scott spoke softly while pushing his brother back down onto the couch. The brief look was now replaced by one of intense pain. "Relax, this isn't good for you. You have to stay put or we will be carting you upstairs." He helped to put the injured leg back into its elevated position and returned to his place by the fire.

Willie stood, finishing her drink and setting her empty glass next to Sam's. "Perhaps, I should go help Teresa with dinner. It appears you two may have something to discuss." She placed both hands on Scott's shoulders and bent to kiss his cheek.

"Good idea, Willie," Scott said gently patting her hand. "I'm starving. How about you, Johnny? Hungry?"

"Not so much, Scott. Wish this damn thing didn't hurt so much, is all."

The click of Willie's heels faded away leaving behind only silence. Scott inched the footstool closer to his brother and waited. Johnny lay sprawled on the couch, his body rigid against the pain brought on by his sudden movement. The foot of his good leg pressed hard against the floor his injured one was back on the pile of pillows. One arm pushed against the pain in his leg the other lay draped across his eyes, hand squeezed into a tight fist. Scott waited.

"You don't have to keep staring at me, Scott. I ain't goin' nowhere," Johnny said without moving his arm away from his eyes.

"Oh, I know that, Brother. That's not what I'm waiting for."

"Is that so? Well if you expect me to go spilling my guts you got a long wait."

"I need you to tell me what to do about Remy, Johnny. There are obviously some things there that don't sit well with you. Should I make him leave?"

"Not sure it's him exactly, Scott. I mean, plenty of people make coffee that way. It ain't like it means the kid knows the man. Just let it go, Scott, please just let it go."

"It may not just be the coffee, Johnny. He's from Nogales and his stepfather, he knew a kid that could break a horse like no other. Put those things together, Johnny, and I have a pretty good feeling he knows, the man, as you put it. So, back to my original question, what should I do about Remy?"

"Don't know what ta tell ya, Scott. But I'm thinkin' I don't want him anywhere near me. Suppose, if I were you, I'd keep an eye on him. Hard to say if he's trouble. Easy to say he's probably pretty messed up."

Both men fell quiet for a spell. Voices and laughter from outside found its way through the closed doors. "He says he has a sister, Johnny. Says she's with this stepfather."

"Now that could spell trouble, Scott. I have a pretty good idea of what I'd be willing to do if I were in his shoes."

"Johnny?"

"Yeah, Scott."

"The coffee, was there usually something in it?"

"Usually, Scott. I came to expect it, need it. I was a kid, wasn't sure why just knew I had to have it. When the coffee was plain, like it was today, well, I'd get a little worked up. Kind of like this afternoon. It worked to his advantage."

"Who, Johnny? Who are we talking about?" Scott swallowed hard having a pretty good idea what name he would hear.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Propping himself up on his elbows, Johnny's eyes narrowed and bore straight through Scott, begging for an end to the conversation. As if in answer to his silent plea, a roar of laughter came from the men outside and the French doors swung open. A blast of cold air brought Murdoch and Sam with it.

"Those men are grateful for your offer, Scott. And found great pleasure in the boy's coffee. I need to get Maria to make it that way."

Scott looked at Johnny with a questioning gaze. Johnny shook his head then lay back down with a moan.

"Uhm, Murdoch, don't you think she would take offense? After all, she has been making you your coffee for years now. Just think how she would feel if all of a sudden you said you didn't like it."

"Perhaps you're right, Scott."

"And how is my patient?" Sam asked as he moved across the room and stood in front of the fire warming his hands. Spying his abandoned drink he made a pleasant sound of recollection and swallowed it down.

"He had a wave of discomfort a short time ago, Sam, but it appears to have settled down some. Right, Johnny?"

"Right, Scott."

"I'm afraid there will be more of that, especially, if you try to move around. Not smart you know."

"Think I got that part figured out now, Sam, thanks," Johnny replied weakly.

"Just doing my job," Sam spoke as he examined the bruises and replaced the cold compresses. "I wish there was more I could do for you, but, at the moment, unless you are willing to accept the pain killer then I am at a loss."

Johnny propped himself up on his elbows again and studied the doctor for a long time. Sam took advantage of the hesitation and reached into his bag, the injured man's eyes following his every move. "I know you don't like this, Johnny, but it's a necessary evil." He watched as Sam poured some into a glass and mixed it with water. "Here," Sam said holding the glass at chin level. "At least you'll be able to get some sleep." Johnny's resolve seemed to slip away. He reached for the glass, his fingers wrapping around it. With no warning he pushed it back, spilling some of its contents to the floor. "No, Sam." He fell into the cushions. "No."

"Dinner is served, Gentlemen." Teresa's voice broke the sudden tension. Three men looked up as she walked in from the kitchen with the first platter of food.

Murdoch looked at Sam and sighed then leaned over the back of the couch and studied his son before patting his cheek. "Can I at least bring you something to eat, Johnny?"

Lifting off the couch slightly to reposition, Johnny shook his head. "Think I'll just lay here for now, Murdoch. Between the whiskey, the fritters and this nasty tea, my stomach's not feelin' much like eatin'," he said, closing his eyes.

"I understand, maybe later," Murdoch answered with a gentle pat to his son's shoulder and a worried look. He turned to Sam. "Should I be concerned?"

Sam placed a hand on his friend's back and ushered him to the table. "No, Murdoch, that's to be expected, my friend. He's in tremendous pain, or he never would have even considered the laudanum."

"Hope you'll be able to get some sleep, Johnny." Scott spoke quietly. He leaned in closer and added, "I'd like to continue our conversation, later."

There was no reaction from his brother. He lay there, eyes closed, jaw tensed.

"Well, if no one objects," Scott said as he straightened. "I think I'll head upstairs and change my clothes before dinner. They've become a bit uncomfortable. If you'll excuse me."

More food was placed on the table and Murdoch looked at his elder son. "Take your time, Scott. There is little danger of us running out." His attempt at a smile proved inadequate.

As per his custom, Scott took the stairs two at a time and turned the corner into his room. He was pleasantly surprised to find the fire freshly stoked and the room warm and inviting. He toed off his boots while shrugging his stiffened shirt to the floor. Picking it up, he placed it on the bed post. His pants were still damp leaving his skin itchy. He peeled them from his long legs and draped them over the back of a chair in front of the fire. Enjoying the warmth, he stood naked before the flames. A wave of tiredness washed over him as he contemplated the long day. It started this morning with Maria's angry shouts and look where it led? Had he made a dreadful mistake by bringing the boy back to Lancer? It seemed such a natural thing to do, innocent enough. Yet he may have brought a piece of Johnny's past right through the front door. A piece, by all indications, most unwanted.

He slipped on a warm shirt and tucked it into a pair of dry pants, pulled his boots back on and ran his fingers through his hair before opening the door to his room. He stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the comments of 'looks delicious,' and 'I'm starving' and he took a moment to draw a deep breath, inhaling the tantalizing aroma. His stomach growled.

A sound from Johnny's room startled him. Silently he walked back down the hall and peered through the half open door. He saw no one but could hear movement, then the strike and sizzle of a match. Scott pressed the door open slowly to reveal Remy, bent over the fireplace, the small kindling sparking to life.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Remy remained crouched before the growing flames seemingly unaffected by Scott's unexpected arrival. "Johnny said he had no wood in his room, I brought some up and figured I'd get things warmed up." He added a few more well placed logs and rose to his feet. "I think I did your room too."

"Yes, you did. Thank you," Scott replied guardedly, his eyes darting quickly about the room searching for anything out of the ordinary. Focusing back on the boy he asked, "You've finished cooking for the men? And cleaned up?"

"Yeah, well, they're eating. I'll clean up when they're done. Don't like cleanin' enough to do it twice."

Scott moved closer and looked about the room once more. An uneasy feeling started in his belly and tensed every muscle in his back, but he could find nothing to give it legs. "It was a nice gesture, Remy, but I don't believe you belong here. A man has a right to some personal space and one's room is exactly that."

"Johnny said that other fella' always took care of it, so I figured, as long as I was doin' part of his job I might as well do all of it. Just seemed to make sense, you know?"

"Jelly has been with us a long time, and is practically family. You, on the other hand, were just hired today. Your place is in the bunkhouse." Scott could feel the heat of his anger grow with each word. He grabbed the boy's arms and moved him forcefully toward the door. "See that you stay there."

"Yes, Sir." Remy took on the look of having been properly chastised and shuffled out the door and down the back stairs. Scott watched until he was out of sight.

Alone in Johnny's room Scott took a moment to look about a bit more carefully. The wood was neatly stacked and the fire had quickly warmed the space. Or was it his anger that had warmed him? Fleetingly Scott wondered if perhaps he'd been too harsh on the boy. After all, Johnny had been rather repetitive with his lament over his lack of firewood. It could be Remy was just trying to be helpful. He walked to the dresser. None of the drawers were fully closed, which was not entirely out of the ordinary. Scott pulled open the top drawer and looked inside – a few pairs of socks, a neatly folded night shirt and a stack of letters, the remaining space was taken up with boxes of bullets. Everything looked as it should, he even easily recognized the sender of the top letter by the much improved penmanship of the boy, Clay, from Bakersfield. He quickly realized the futility of what he was doing and reconsidered opening the rest of the drawers. He wasn't sure he'd notice if anything was missing and, if he knew one thing about his brother it was that he guarded his privacy. He closed the door tight behind him and went downstairs to dinner.

There was an orchestrated rhythm to the sounds emanating from the table, muted chatter mingled with the ting of utensils hitting plates underscored by the occasional subdued drawl from the couch. At first Johnny was offering a few comments, but eventually they faded off and Scott hoped Johnny had drifted off to sleep. It was as if both, he and Murdoch noticed the silence at the same time because their eyes met after looking in the direction of the couch. Scott offered his father a tilt of the head and Murdoch nodded. Sam took note of the two men and rose from the table, walking quietly, he checked on his patient. His face softened into the hint of a smile, and he nodded while returning to the table and his meal. "He appears to be asleep. It is the best thing for him."

Confirmation of a sleeping Johnny released some of the underlying tension. The women, who sat on the opposite side of the table from Scott, put their heads together for the remainder of the meal. They were sharing gossip and discussing what had been found in the attic. Teresa was doing most of the talking. Willie would nod and reply but her eyes rarely left Scott. He watched as Willie's eyes lit up at the mention of some item, then both women giggled. He mouthed, "What?" but Willie only shook her head with a knowing smile and continued with her listening.

The men spoke on every subject except the one Scott's mind kept returning to, Remy. There certainly was more to this boy than he first thought. Johnny was most likely right, it would be best to make sure he stayed on, despite Scott's desire to send him on his way. But would Johnny feel the same way once he learned the boy had been in his room? How would Johnny take that bit of information? Not well, Scott determined, not well at all. Keeping an eye on Remy would most assuredly be easier if Scott were the one telling him where to go and what to do. And keeping an eye on the boy was something Scott was suddenly very interested in doing. Sending him on his way would definitely not be wise.

Dinner was done, dessert forgone and coffee declined. Murdoch and Sam adjourned to the warmth of the fire. Willie began to follow Teresa into the kitchen with the remnants of the meal. "No. You've done enough. You're here to see Scott, not work in the kitchen alongside me."

"If you insist, Teresa, but I'll at least bring these in."

Scott stood by her side, his fingers slipping off her back as she moved away. Left alone, he strode to the liquor cabinet as Sam and his father settled into the two armchairs on either side of the hearth. "Brandy, Gentlemen?" he asked quietly, pouring himself a glass. Both men nodded.

"Are you planning to stay the night, Sam? Or do you have to head back?" Murdoch questioned the doctor while accepting the glass offered from Scott's outstretched hand, his eyes locked onto his sleeping son.

"Well, I'd like to stay. Hopefully by morning some of the swelling will have gone down and I'll be better able to access his injury. I'm quite certain about the fibula break but I am hoping the ankle wasn't broken as well. That can be a very tricky injury and one that rarely heals to my satisfaction."

Murdoch leaned his head back, closed his eyes and released an audible breath through his nose.

A gentle voice from the couch broke the silence. "It ain't broke."

"Johnny, I thought you were sleeping." Murdoch revived at the sound of the younger man's voice.

"Nope, just listening," Johnny said softly, neither opening his eyes nor moving. "Like hearing your voices, makes me feel… uhm…" His eyes snapped open and looked from his father to his brother. "It's just good to know I'm where I belong, is all," he huffed and crossed his arms, closing his eyes once again.

Willie returned from the kitchen and sidled up beside the tall blonde, where he stood behind the couch. Reflexively Scott put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close feeling his body relax in her presence.

Without opening his eyes Johnny spoke again. "Why don't the two of you go check on Barranca for me, Scott?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me, Johnny."

"No, no, that ain't it at all."

"I'd have to say, your brother has a wonderful idea, Scott," Willie agreed.

With a nod, Scott moved to gather Willie's coat from the rack and held it out for her. "Are you coming, Dear?"

"I thought you'd never ask." She reached over the back of the couch and gave Johnny a tender pat on the shoulder. "Thank you," she said softly before walking across the room to her waiting coat.

The door closed behind them and Scott stopped to wrap his arms around the petite blond. They stood together bathed in the amber glow of the lanterns. "I've waited all day for this. Remind me to thank my brother."

"Already taken…"

Her words were stopped. Taking her face in his hands, Scott repeatedly kissed her full lips, each time lingering just a little bit longer until he drew her into a deep passionate kiss. Willie returned his fervor. Scott could feel the beat of her heart as she pressed against him and was inspired by the soft throaty moan that ensued.

The interrupting sound nearly stopped Scott's heart. Both lovers released their ardent hold and looked in the direction of the noise generated by Mason Smith clearing his throat.

"It would seem I've caught you by surprise once more, my apologies. But your father suggested I come in for a drink after my meal. And a fine meal it was, very fine."

"The boy can cook," Scott said as he attempted to regain his composure.

The three of them stood there rather awkwardly in silence. "Your brother, how is he doing?"

"It appears we won't know until the swelling goes down, but then you would already know that since you spoke to Sam. You also know he was annoyed by the whiskey, said it may have caused much of the swelling." Scott regretted his tone the moment he spoke but it was too late.

"I understand your concern, but I'll tell you what I told the good doctor. I don't think it did. The boy should have never taken that damned boot off. It was the only thing keeping it in check. And to be honest, the liquor was as much for your benefit as it was for his. Watching your brother in pain can be almost as hard as suffering the pain yourself. That was a rough ride, and if he were hurting you would have gone even slower which wouldn't have done either one of you a lick of good. So, if you want to second guess my decisions go right ahead but if you want to doubt my motives then you and I have nothing more to say to each other. Now if you don't mind your father invited me inside for a drink."

Willie didn't speak but by the look in her eyes Scott knew exactly what she was thinking. He dropped his head. "Forgive me, I never meant to insult you. You were helpful and I appreciate what you did for us." Scott looked Mason in the eye. "I'm sorry." He opened the door and gestured the large man in.

"Your nerves are frayed. I understand. Just don't believe in letting things fester, no good ever comes of it." Mason walked into the house and Scott heard Murdoch welcome him as he closed the door and wrapped his arm around Willie. She turned to face him and ran a finger across the furrow in his brow. "That has been there all through dinner. Care to enlighten me? And don't be telling me it's nothing, because I know you better than that, Scott Lancer."

"You do know me well, don't you?"

"I'd like to think so," she said running a finger down the row of buttons on the front of his shirt and catching it in the waistband of his trousers. With a gentle tug they began moving off the porch.

"Not having a good day I take it," Willie said repeating the words Scott used when he found her cleaning up after Remy in the café.

He continued to follow her toward the barn, his hands on her waist. "There seems to be a common thread in all this, Willie. I should have never brought that boy here. What was I thinking?"

Willie stopped, just outside the barn door. She leaned back against it and pressed a finger to Scott's lips. "Shhh. You know exactly what you were thinking and it is one of the many reasons I love you. The boy needed a job, and you thought you could help him. You were trying to do the right thing." She then turned and pulled open the barn door and together they walked inside.

Striking a match on his boot, Scott lit a lantern and took a moment to look around, making sure there was no one else about.

"Now just who are you looking for? Not that I need to ask. You've got my suspicions raised, Scott. What on earth happened between the time I left you and your brother alone and dinner? I get the distinct feeling this has nothing to do with the events of this afternoon and everything to do with Remy. Am I right?" Willie plopped onto a bale of hay and watched Scott approach Barranca. He methodically ran his hands over the palomino then lifted a hoof. He then moved to the next and continued in silence until all four had been checked. "I knew Miguel would have taken good care of him and he did."

"Scott Lancer, if you are trying to vex me you are doing a fine job. I asked you a question."

"I believe you asked me three questions, Dear, and I'm trying to decide how best to answer them."

"Short and to the point would be a good place to start, Scott."

"Is that so? Well then, in that case - Remy, more than I expected and yes, Dear, you are usually right. There are you happy now?"

"Your first answer makes sense, your last answer pleases me, but I do have a problem with your second answer. More than you expected? Really, Scott, that tells me absolutely nothing."

Scott sat down facing Willie, he sighed heavily as he looked into her concerned eyes. "I found Remy in Johnny's room tonight."

"Gracious, Scott, he has no business… what was he doing?"

"That's the thing, his reasoning was sound. He said he was starting the fire, which he was."

"But, you don't think that was his only reason, you have reason to suspect Remy of subterfuge? And Johnny doesn't know?"

"No, not yet, but he will." Scott placed his hands on Willie's shoulders. "There's more. While I can't tell you everything, there are some things I think I can tell you without betraying Johnny's trust."

"I understand, Scott. It's not right I know his secrets."

A feeble smile flickered across Scott's lips, and he kissed Willie lightly on her forehead. "I love you Willie Dawson," he said and drew a deep breath finding strength in her scent.

"I believe Remy's stepfather may be a man from Johnny's past." Scott rolled his next words around in his head. "I don't know much about him, but if my suspicions are correct he turned both Johnny's and my father's world upside down."

"You're scaring me, Scott. Who is this man?"

"His name ? Funny, I didn't know it myself until last year. In fact, the first time I heard it may have been in your café when we were there with Inez. And if I am in any way responsible for bringing Grayson back into Johnny's life, I'm not sure I could ever make that up to him.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Lost in Willie's brown eyes, Scott wished he was wrong. He pressed his forehead to hers and sighed. "Nothing would please me more than to have Remy be just a good kid with nothing to hide."

Placing a hand on Scott's chest, Willie gently pushed him away then lifted his chin. "Now Scott, anything that happens as a result of Remy being here is not your fault. If that boy had his sights set on Lancer he would have found his way here, with or without you. Rest assured."

"You're right. I know you're right, but..."

Willie shivered and Scott suddenly realized how cold it was in the barn. "You must be freezing," he said, repositioning himself behind her on the stacks of hay. He pulled her back toward him and ran his hands up and down her arms for warmth before swathing her in his embrace. "You don't need to go back tonight, do you?" he asked, his lips pressed to her ear.

"No, I can go back in the morning. Teresa mentioned having my room ready. She always likes it when I stay."

"Do you think Teresa will have your room ready?"

Willie sat up and twisted around to look at Scott quizzically.

"What?" he asked.

"I just said that."

"So you did," he said with a sad laugh. "I'm sorry."

"Talk to me, Scott. Tell me what's going on behind those blue eyes of yours." She pushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

Scott stood, removed his jacket and wrapped it around Willie's shoulders. He took two steps away and turned back to face her. "It just doesn't make sense. Why? Why send the boy? What does he hope to find out? "

"Maybe he didn't send him. Maybe this has nothing to do with what Grayson wants and everything to do with what Remy wants." She released Scott's gaze and looked over his shoulder. Her voice softened. "If this man is so awful, so awful that he has Johnny spooked, do you think…? I mean is it possible...? maybe Remy came looking for Johnny. Maybe he wants to…"

"You think he's here to hire Johnny? Do you think he wants to be rid of Grayson?"

"It's possible, isn't it? I mean, if he knows anything at all about Johnny it stands to reason he would know that. Right?"

Scott thought for a moment, pacing into the darkened edges of the lamplight before turning and stepping back into its glow. He wanted this to make sense. He wanted to put things together. "That could explain his efforts to find work. It doesn't explain what he was doing in Johnny's room. But, given what little we know, it's probably worth considering."

"What little we know," Willie repeated softly. "What do we know exactly?"

"Not very much, I'm afraid. Neither Murdoch nor Johnny has been too forthcoming. In fact, whenever I've tried to bring it up Johnny just gets quiet or abruptly changes the subject. The only question he answered was when I asked what became of Grayson. He said he couldn't be sure, that when they parted company Grayson was barely alive."

"That's not much to go on, Scott. For all we know the man's dead. I don't understand why you would think this man is Remy's stepfather based on that? I assume it has something to do with the coffee but is that enough?"

Turning away Scott ran a finger along the top rail of Barranca's stall. "That's just one of the little things. Each one, by itself, is a mere coincidence but combined…" He turned back to look at Willie. "Let's just say I put a lot of stock in Johnny's gut."

"This man, he affected Murdoch as well?"

Scott moved closer and crouched down before Willie, resting his hands on her knees he looked into her eyes. With a loud exhale of breath he spoke, "If not for Grayson, all our lives could have been different. Murdoch would have had the woman he loved, Johnny would have never left and maybe, just maybe, Grandfather would have allowed me to grow up with my brother. This one man caused so much suffering, all because he somehow persuaded Maria to leave with him. This man is the infamous gambler I'm sure you've heard mentioned over the ladies afternoon tea."

"The gambler?" Willie whispered.

"Yes, Grayson swept Maria away, though the reasons have not been divulged to me. I can only surmise he was aware of some secret that he used to blackmail her with."

"Why wouldn't she have confided in Murdoch? Why would she just up and leave, taking her little boy with her?" She put her arms around Scott and pulled him close. "How very sad, how sad she didn't confide in him. I'm sure something could have been worked out."

"This man is…" Scott shifted his weight and pulled Willie's arms from his neck. "He wouldn't exactly be called a man of reason. How did Inez describe him? Ah, yes, savage as a meat axe. He was responsible for the death of her brother and a least one other man that I'm aware of. Murdoch did tell me that Maria believed if she ever tried to make contact, in any way; either he or Johnny would wind up dead."

"Oh dear, that poor woman. What kind of choice is that?"

"Not an easy one to be sure, which leads me to one conclusion. If Grayson has indeed returned it can be for nothing good." A shiver rocked Scott's lean frame. "Let's get you inside. I think I need to locate our young friend and see what he's up to."

"You know, Scott. If there is anything I can do."

Scott took Willie's hands in his and pulled her to her feet. "I know, Willie, but all I want from you is to stay safe. That's all, nothing more."

"That shouldn't be too hard," she said.

They reached the front door and Scott held it open. Stepping over the threshold, Willie turned to him while slipping his coat from her shoulders. "I need you to stay safe too," she said handing him back the jacket and offering a concerned smile.

He bent and kissed the top of her head then turned her around by the shoulders and gently pushed her into the house. Remaining on the threshold, he watched her remove her coat then closed the door. Through the French doors he observed Murdoch rise from his chair and offer it to Willie. It warmed Scott to know how much everyone liked her. It would make asking for her hand all the easier. He longed to share her bed and ached for their children. His hand moved to the small breast pocket in his jacket and he smiled when his finger felt the cool metal. "Another day, Willie Dawson, another day," Scott said softly, his eyes still fixed on the love of his life.

He moved from the porch and followed the sound of deep and full-bodied laughter as it bounced off the surrounding walls. Light filtered out from around the edges of the bunkhouse door. With a firm tug it opened and he was met by bright light and warm air. The pot belly stove glowed almost red and nearly every lantern burned brightly. His entrance did not go unnoticed nor did it quiet the men. Four men sat at the only table in the room playing a friendly game of poker, insults and laughter being dealt more freely than cards. Another sat by the stove his feet propped on a crate reading a dime novel. Mason Smith walked over to greet him, a cigar clenched between his teeth. "Thank you again for your hospitality. My men and I are grateful for a hot meal and a warm bed. That weather today damn near froze me to the quick."

"I'm pleased you accepted. It would have been a hardship to set right back out." Scott peered past Mason and his men searching for Remy. "Tell me, have you seen the boy?"

Mason chuckled. "Oh, yes. He tried to teach us a thing or two about poker, said his Pa was some kind of gambler." The tip of the big man's cigar came to life as he inhaled repeatedly. Puffs of smoke filled the space between the two men and he shook his head. "He didn't play his first card before he fell asleep at the table. I carried him off to bed. There." Mason pointed to the darkened end of the room and sure enough, tucked in and dead to the world lay Remy. "He must have had one heck of a busy day."

"Yes, I suppose he did." Scott stepped closer studying the sleeping young man. "He looks innocent enough," he said out loud, without meaning to.

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Oh, no reason," Scott replied, his eyes still fixed on the boy. He stood there for a beat then turned. "Good night."

"We'll be gone at first light, so I'll say good bye now. If they send me this way again, I'll see you in a week."

Scott stopped before he reached the door. He turned and looked Mason in the eye. "Thank you." He then turned and walked out into the brisk night air.

~*~*~*~*~

Johnny lay on the sofa, eyes closed, listening. Not so much to the words, they weren't important. It was the voices, voices he'd come to trust and to love. Voices, that brought comfort, even when raised in anger. Voices, that allowed him to feel safe, a feeling rare in his life, until a short time ago. A feeling he liked and would do anything to keep.

Murdoch's voice had a way of filling a room. He spoke with humor reciting the story of Scott's first attempts at roping a calf. A story told for the hundredth time, at least, this one for Willie's benefit. It had not gone well. But, it proved one thing to Johnny, at the time. His brother was not one to give up. Finally, with both calf and man exhausted, he succeeded. Though it was the only thing Scott accomplished that entire day. Johnny could picture the gleam in his father's eye. The one that appeared each time he told that story, the one that spoke of a man's pride in his son.

The door opened and Johnny recognized Scott's footsteps, then his voice. "None of our boys are back yet but the men from the railroad are settled in and Remy is sound asleep."

"He had a full day," Murdoch said. "Who knows what time he started this morning. But I do know it took Maria half the morning to calm down. Willie, dear, have you tried his cooking? He is really a remarkable chef." Murdoch didn't give the woman a chance to answer. "Did you know, as a lad, I enjoyed cooking? There was a time I thought I might pursue that line of work but fortunately I found something that suited me far better. Can you picture me working in a restaurant?" Johnny could hear the smile on his father's face.

Willie laughed. She had the kind of laugh that made you want to laugh right along with her. Scott called it contagious, always thought that was a bad thing, like with sickness. Never thought something good could be contagious. But it was.

"Sam, your being quiet," Murdoch stated.

"Yes, I suppose I am. It has been a long time since I've spent the night, Murdoch. I've let my mind wander I'm afraid."

"Don't go back there, Sam. The year finished on a good note and this one, with the exception of today, has every indication of being even better."

"So it does, Murdoch, so it does," Johnny heard the tell tale creak of the chair as Sam stood. "Think I'll turn in, if you don't mind. That brandy has suddenly made me very tired. Good night."

A mismatched chorus of good nights followed.

"I need to get an early start tomorrow," Willie said. "Perhaps I should say my good nights as well. As it is, I probably won't be ready to open my doors until almost ten. Fortunately I had the forethought to place a sign in the window. 'Opening Late'. I can only imagine what kind of gossip that will stir up." Johnny could hear a hint of pleasure in her voice. "Mrs. Wilkes in particular."

"You know, Willie," Murdoch said, "Maybe Remy could take you back, I'm sure he'll need some things from Wilkes' store, that way you won't have to make the trip alone and you can bring back all the things Teresa has packed up for you. You see, with Johnny down and Jelly away I simply can't spare Scott."

"Murdoch, I'm not so sure that is a good idea." Scott jumped in. "She can wait for Sam. Can't you?"

"This may come as a surprise to both of you gentlemen, but I'm perfectly capable of riding into town by myself, no escort required. Though, I appreciate the sentiment." The rustle of her skirt indicated her movement across the carpet. It was followed by the sound of a quick kiss and a quiet. "Thank you, Murdoch."

"Yes, well, you're welcome, Dear."

"Besides, I already spoke with Sam. He has agreed to bring back my things in exchange for lunch. A fair trade, wouldn't you agree? And after Remy's fiasco in Wilkes' I'd be very surprised if she'd let him inside the front door. No, if he plans on doing any shopping I would suggest Green River or Morro Coyo."

Johnny felt the tug of a smile. He liked Willie. She thought on her feet, something few women did in his estimation. Scott must have given her some information, enough to make a wise decision, at least about Remy. Not so much about riding alone. Slowly the voices began to drift off until only a faint buzz remained then - nothing. Nothing, that is, until Scott's persistent voice broke him free of the nightmare that was starting to take hold.

"I know you're not sleeping, Little Brother, so you can quit pretending." He was seated back on the footstool starring into Johnny's face. "Everyone else has gone to bed and it's time for us to continue our little chat."

"Was sleepin', for a spell. But the dream that was startin' wasn't gonna be one that leaves me smilin'." He rubbed his hands over his face and stretched as best he could. Pain shot through his leg at the slight movement. He struggled to not let it show. "Just leave me alone, Scott, it's not something I want to talk about."

Scott leaned in close. "If you aren't interested in talking, Johnny, I'm sure Murdoch might want to hear your suspicions. He knows more about Grayson than I do and if I figured it out… To be honest he has a right to know."

The thought of that conversation struck a powerful blow and at this moment that was the last thing he wanted to think about. What would Murdoch do? "You wouldn't dare, Scott. First because we aren't even sure yet and second because, if anyone tells him it's gonna be me. And I ain't breathin' a word 'til I'm sure."

"He already told Mason his father was some kind of gambler, that's good enough for me. But if you need more we could confront the kid, drag him out of bed and interrogate him." Scott's voice deepened and he moved in a little closer. "Between the two of us we can be very persuasive."

"No… nope." Johnny shook his head. "It won't do no good. If he ain't with him then all we'll do is scare the kid and if he is, then he's ready for anything we could dish out. And I mean anything." Johnny swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "You just need to follow him, maybe suggest a trip to town. Murdoch had the right idea. See where he leads ya. I'm bettin' it won't be back to Spanish Wells, I think Willie was right about that. He made sure they wouldn't want him back there. No, if I were to call the turn on this one, I think he'll lead you straight to a certain faro dealer."

"A gambler, it makes sense."

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut. It was starting. His head hurt, his palms were sweaty and he could feel the hate growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah, Scott." He fought to sound unaffected.

"Are you going to be alright? You're not going to do anything foolish are you?"

"At the moment, Scott, I can barely make it off this couch, so foolish is out of the question. Don't you think?"

"What did he put in the coffee, Johnny?"

The fire popped causing Scott to jump. Johnny didn't move. His mind was lost to those first few moments when it all started. How stupid was he? That first night, when Grayson and Socorro showed up at his door, he was offered the flask. How much did he have? A few stolen sips? Tasted like cinnamon, made him not care. Not care that Inez wasn't coming back, not care that Socorro's body lay just a few feet away and not care that he was going off with a man both his mother and Inez hated. None of that mattered anymore. He liked not caring. And all he needed to make it last was just a sip or two.

"Johnny? Was it laudanum?"

"Yeah, only I didn't know. He offered me the shit almost as soon as he walked through the door." He laughed a tired laugh. "Hell, I thought it was some kind of whiskey. How was I supposed to know any different? I was what? Two days into twelve?" The two brothers shared a pitiful look.

"By the time I plugged Socorro full a holes, my first man was dead and I was feeling no pain. Shit, I felt free and it was all thanks to Grayson and his little silver flask." He groaned as the knot in his belly tightened. He wished he could get sick and rid himself of this feeling but it was all too familiar. He'd just have to get used to it all over again. "By the time we reached that first flea bitten dust trap I would have followed Grayson anywhere." There was an ember of panic in his voice that he hated, maybe it didn't sound as bad as it felt. "He knew it too. He knew exactly how to push and when to…" There it was again, the panic. He swallowed it down adding to the churn in his gut. It would not take hold, not now, not ever. He drew several long deep breaths until his heart no longer felt like it was beating out of his chest and he could speak again without giving himself away.

"It took a long time before I learned what it was. Knew something wasn't right but had no idea what. A few days after I left I took sick. Thought I was dyin'. Hell, I wished I was dyin', but still didn't know. Not till I got shot up a couple months later. Doc gave me laudanum." He stopped and sat up as best he could, the pain in his leg almost a relief. Looking Scott straight in the eye he continued. His voice calm and in control. "These words don't come easy for me, but it scared the shit outta me when I couldn't stop. The second time, knowing the cause didn't make the sickness any easier. But I'll tell ya what it did do. It made me hate that man. Made me wish I'd never saved his sorry hide, made me swear if I ever met up with him again he'd be a dead man, Scott. A dead man."

"Now, Johnny, that sounds like the something foolish I was just talking about."

"Maybe. All I know is - if I don't kill him I'm afraid Murdoch will."

"I don't think so, Johnny. He's not a violent man."

"Not like me? Is that what you want to say? You know as good as the next man, Scott, anyone can be violent if there is enough hate built up inside. Grayson took a lot away from Murdoch, you think he don't hate the man? Of course he does." Johnny's voice was rising with each word. "But he's mine. Because I have every damn right too want to see that man lyin' in a pool of his own blood. Every fuckin' reason. And if that's what I decide to do there better not be one person who tries to stop me. Not one."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Hold down your voice, Johnny, or you'll be telling Murdoch about this a whole lot sooner than you expected." With both hands Scott pressed Johnny back down on the couch. Johnny's lips were drawn tight. Most of their color lost. He fell back into the cushions and started to laugh. It was a full belly laugh that lacked any sound of joy, leaving Scott with an uneasy feeling.

"Oh brother, would you look at me. He's not even here and I'm letting him win." The laughter quieted and Johnny's gaze fell on his brother, eyes hardened and edged with pain. "But he won't win, Scott, not this time," he sighed out.

"Your right Johnny, he won't win, we won't let him." Scott gave his brother one more gentle pat on the chest and looked at his leg. "Hurt much?" he asked with a nod.

"Not so much, must be gettin' used to it. I'll be up and around in no time and when I do…"

"You don't lie as well as you used to, Brother. Either that or I'm a lot better at reading you." Scott stood and placed another log on the fire, then walked to the end of the couch for a better look at the injured leg. Lifting the blanket he whistled softly. "Those bandages are looking a little tight, should I get Sam?"

"No, I'm still good."

"Of course you are. Why would I expect a different answer?"

Johnny shrugged.

"Don't start planning a get-a-way any time soon. You're going to need to rely on your family for this one." Johnny opened his mouth to speak and Scott held up a finger to silence him. "I know what you're going to say, that this is your problem. But I have to tell you, this man stopped being just your problem a long time ago."

"Scott, this really has nothing to do with you."

"That's where you're wrong, Johnny. It has everything to do with me and with Murdoch, and you know it."

Johnny dipped his head. Scott matched his movement in an attempt to read his expression. A look of defeat transformed into a cheeky grin. "Speaking of things that involve all of us, Scott," Johnny's voice had a mischievous tone. "How did things go tonight?"

"You're trying to change the subject, Johnny."

"Not trying - did. I'm tired of talkin' 'bout me, when you had such big plans tonight."

"I didn't ask." Scott clipped. "My mind was in other places."

"You mean I sent you out to the barn to give you time to ask the big question and… Don't tell me you were thinkin' about me with a pretty girl in your arms," Johnny drawled. "That just ain't right, Brother."

"It wasn't you exactly." Scott walked back to the footstool and sat down facing his brother, elbows resting on his knees. "It was Remy."

"Now, Scott, I gotta' tell ya, that's worse. Should I be worried about you, Brother?"

"It's not me we should be worrying about." It was Scott's turn to dip his head. Without looking up he spoke in a low voice. "I found Remy in your room tonight."

Johnny's body seemed to slip deeper into the cushions as he exhaled. His expression was stoic. Slowly, his lips spread into a thin smile.

"You're taking that news rather well."

"Can't say I'm surprised, is all," he said. "Bet he had a real good reason too. Made perfect sense, like bringing wood to my room?"

"Yes, he started a fire… How did you know?"

"Just gave him a little rope, that's all. Kind a answers a few questions, or it will."

"And to think I thought that was drunken blather. You, Brother, still manage to surprise me."

"I was drunk, but even drunk a man can't afford to let his guard down, not completely. Unless of course you know…"

"Know the man you're drinking with." Scott finished the sentence with him, and together they chuckled then fell into a magnified silence.

Johnny dropped his head and began to trace a crease in his palm with his thumb. "It's what he would have had me do." The words were hushed and would have gone unheard if Scott had not been seated so close.

With a nudge Scott asked, "What do you think he took?"

"Took? Nothing, Scott, he didn't take anything." He answered without looking up, his voice weary. "The question is, what's there that wasn't before. That's the game."

"Game?"

"If you don't know their weakness, find it. Once you know it, take advantage of it. I may hate the man now, but I didn't then and neither does Remy, at least not all the time."

"Willie thought he might want to hire you."

"Hire me?" His laugh was bitter. He looked at Scott now, his eyes hardened. "Sometimes he probably does, but he won't." Attention was returned to his hand. "Was he in anyone else's room?"

"Mine, but I think that's it."

"Murdoch? Do you think he was in Murdoch's room?"

"I don't know. It didn't occur to me to check. It's possible I suppose, but unlikely he'd have had enough time."

Johnny nodded then looked Scott in the eye. "Don't let Willie ride into town alone, Scott. I think she's safe at the moment but Remy knows what she means to you and if things get ugly she'd be an easy target. I know Murdoch said he couldn't spare you but he's wrong. Ramón can run the crew. He took control today and made a good decision. You belong with Willie. Besides you still have a question to ask." The broad smile made it all the way to his eyes.

"Murdoch won't be pleased."

"I'll talk to Murdoch. You just do what you need to do."

Scott stood again and leaned heavily on the mantle with both hands looking into the flames. "You didn't hate him, Johnny? How is that possible?"

"Did you hate your Grandfather?"

The question caught Scott off guard, and he turned to look at his brother before answering, determining if he was serious. "You know I didn't."

"We weren't so different, Scott. I had food to eat and a bed to sleep in, Grayson took care of me. To the others we met up with I had the world. Should I have wanted more? Did you?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that question. To the casual eye, he had everything anybody could ever want, a doting grandfather living among the Boston elite. He should have had everything he wanted, but he didn't. Of course he wanted more, he wanted a mother and a father who loved him, but that was not to be. Instead all he had was this austere man who taught him to hate his own father. But hate his grandfather? No, he never hated Harlan, and it never occurred to him that he should.

"I missed my Mama too, Scott," Johnny said softly as he studied his brother's face. "But, as far as I knew that wasn't Grayson's fault. My hate was directed at one man, and one man only. I know now that hate was based on lies, but not then. See, Scott, not so different." He tilted his head to the right with a knowing smile. "Do you remember Melissa?"

"Melissa Harper? From Boston? I remember."

"She said something that rang true. She talked about animals in a zoo, said they don't hate their keeper or want to see them hurt. Her father was her keeper, Grayson was mine and Harlan was yours. Our cages just looked a little different is all."

"What you say makes sense, but you can't compare Grayson to Grandfather. He didn't turn me into…"

"No, maybe not, but there are enough things in common, don't you think? And just like you I didn't learn about what he did until later. My eyes were opened a little sooner than yours, but if Grayson didn't get shot up who knows how long it would a gone on."

"I know part of you wants to see him dead, Johnny, but is there another part, a part that's curious? A part that is holding onto the hope that he's changed?" Once more, Scott sat on the footstool and rested his elbows on his knees. "I mean, look at Grandfather. He's changed. When he came for that visit last summer, he was the man I remembered as a child. He was never an affectionate man, and that was no different, but I always knew him to be kind and generous. And I knew he loved me. It was good to see proof of the better man. The man I thought he was."

"That's where things are different, Scott. There is no good in Grayson. I thought there was then, but now I know there never was and for me to believe otherwise makes me a fool. But there is another part of me, a part that's afraid. What happens when I see him face to face? What if the man I am now disappears? I've changed, what I admired about him makes me sick inside now. What's to stop me from changin' again? "

"Johnny, you can't, you won't. You're much too strong to let that happen."

"Am I, Scott? Last summer, I saw it happen to you. Harlan still controls a piece of you whether you want him to or not. He stirs up old feelings, things you've forgotten, and he makes part of you feel like a kid again. And it don't take much, a look, a sound or the way he stands, and you become that kid, looking for the nod of approval. That kid eager to please. Do you know what I'm talkin' about?"

"As a matter of fact I do, Johnny," Scott said with a defeated sigh. "It is amazing how he can make all the years disappear with a single glance. He'll get that look in his eyes, the one that said 'Scotty' in a disapproving tone. It is especially effective at the dinner table. Like that time when he caught me trying to beat you to the last slice of meat on the platter. It stopped me in my tracks. I simply relinquished."

"I remember that, was the first time I actually liked the man," Johnny said with a grin. "That piece tasted even better than the first six."

Scott glared.

"What? I was hungry that day." Johnny's look was innocent as he spread his hands out, palms raised.

"Show me a day when you're not hungry."

"Ain't hungry now, Scott," Johnny said with a dip in his voice. "Feelin' kinda tired. Think I'll try to get some sleep. I plan on tryin' to head into Green River tomorrow."

"Johnny, that's not going to happen and you know it. Not with your leg."

"We'll see, Scott, we'll see."

Johnny closed his eyes and Scott knew their conversation was over. He remained seated on the footstool but turned to face the flames. Reaching for the poker he rearranged the logs watching the sparks fly into the darkness and disappear. With a heavy sigh he contemplated what the next day would hold. Certain Johnny's slowing breaths meant he was asleep, Scott stood and stretched. The chimes on the grandfather clock announced the hour of midnight, and he knew he had better get some sleep if he was going to be good for anything in the morning. A noise from the kitchen caused him to drop his head. "Not again," he said and moved swiftly and quietly toward the sounds.

The soft glow of a lantern cast long shadows across the floor. The noise was coming from the pantry. He waited outside the pantry door, his arms crossed, knowing whoever it was had only one way out.

"Oh, it's you," Scott said unable to hide the relief in his voice as Murdoch walked from the pantry with the evening's untouched dessert.

"Yes, it's me," he said seemingly unfazed by the intrusion. "Who were you expecting?" Murdoch grabbed a knife on his way to the table.

"It's a long story."

"I've got time. Sleep didn't come as easily as I'd hoped. Johnny finally asleep?"

"Yes, finally. He is a stubborn one," Scott said as he pulled two plates off the shelf and placed them before his father. Murdoch cast him a concerned glance.

"I do wish he'd take the laudanum. It would make things a lot easier on him and us," Murdoch said slicing into the cake and, using his fingers, plopped it onto one of the plates. He reached into a nearby drawer and removed two forks, setting one next to the slice of cake before sliding it across the table toward Scott. "Excuse my fingers," he said licking some frosting from his thumb.

Scott couldn't help but smile. "Of course."

"I heard you two talking. Sounded serious, so I kept my distance. Is there something I should know?" Murdoch sliced a second piece and maneuvered it onto his plate.

"Yes," Scott sighed. "But I've been instructed it's not my place to tell." He forked a piece of cake into his mouth.

"Is it about the boy?" Murdoch asked his eyes locked onto his elder son. "Both you and Willie seemed against my sending him to town with her." Scott's look of surprise must have been painfully obvious. Murdoch continued. "I may be old, Scott, but I can still read people, especially when one of them is my own son." He tucked into his piece of cake.

"Yes, we have a few concerns about Remy." With his fork he drew a few lines into the frosting. "Tell me, was the fire lit in your room when you went to bed?"

"No, Scott, it wasn't. Why?" Murdoch asked before his next bite.

"Because Remy was upstairs when I changed for dinner and had started fires in both my room and Johnny's. It just didn't sit right with me, not with what Johnny suspects."

Murdoch placed his fork alongside his plate and leaned his forearms on the table giving Scott his full attention. "Johnny is suspicious of the boy? Does he know him from somewhere? Nogales perhaps?"

"No, but he thinks he might know his stepfather and that is all I can divulge. Anything more and you'll have to speak to Johnny." Scott focused on gathering the crumbs on his plate by pressing them with the tines of his fork. He could feel the burn of Murdoch's questioning gaze and fought back the urge to say more. Taking hold of his father's stare Scott met it with one if his own. "I can tell you this, I plan on taking Willie back to Spanish Wells in the morning and then after lunch, I'm taking Remy to Green River for supplies. Ramón can supervise the men." Scott looked at his father ready for an argument. None came.

Murdoch looked away but the look in his eyes caused Scott to regret his decision. He had every right to know.

"If you think that's best, Scott. Who am I to argue if I don't have all the facts? Puts me at a bit of a disadvantage, wouldn't you say?"

One day, that is all the time he would give Johnny. One day. "I'm sorry, Murdoch, but don't worry. Johnny will tell you, you know him, he just wants to be sure."

"I understand, Scott, but there is such a thing as being too sure."

"And how's that, Sir?"

"Dead sure."

"Yes, well we won't let it come to that." Scott's chair scraped loudly against the tile floor as he stood. "I think I'll turn in."

Stepping through the doorway and out of his father's view, Scott pressed against the wall. He felt ashamed for not revealing more of the details, but he did agree with Johnny. Yet at the same time he was torn in two by the needs of his father. He placated himself with the hollow rationalization that there were bound to be questions, questions Scott couldn't answer.

He looked up the stairs then down the back corridor. Left led up to his room while right led to the guest room occupied by Willie. One passage called louder than the other.

The door creaked as it opened. A low flame burned in the hearth, its delicate light cascading across Willie's alabaster skin. Scott closed the door and leaned against it drinking in her beauty and feeling the need to wrap her in his arms. When did this happen? When had he fallen so hopelessly in love? To the point where she was the first person he wanted - no needed - to confide in? Never before had anyone taken precedence over his immediate family. Never before did he ever feel as complete as he did in her arms. And never before had he done this under his father's roof. But he needed to touch her, smell her, taste her. He needed to feel whole.

He shrugged out of his shirt allowing it to fall to the floor then undid his belt buckle and rolled his pants past his lean hips, removing both his pants and his boots at the same time. He slipped between the sheets and slid across the bed until his cool flesh met Willie's warmth. A warmth that ignited his own inner fire. Cupping her breast he ran his thumb over her hardening nipple and was rewarded by a contented sigh. He breathed a sigh of relief at her acceptance. She rolled over to face him. No words were uttered only soft moans and quickening breaths. They finally fell asleep to the savage beat of each other's hearts.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

~*Chapter 10*~

It was still dark when Scott woke to the rumble of hooves. He dressed quickly and lifted the curtain, only to see Mason Smith and his men leaving Lancer and heading off to retrieve the loaded wagons. Mason spoke the truth when he'd said they'd be gone by first light. The eastern sky carried only the slightest hint of opalescence. He was relieved to see him go. Even though Scott decided he liked the man, he was not in the mood for a bevy of strangers.

A loud sigh slipped past his lips as he cast his eyes toward the bed, wishing he could slide back between the sheets and wake Willie with a kiss. That was not to be. Instead he pulled the curtains together, threw another log on the fire and slipped unnoticed from the room. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her any disfavor on the part of his father. He knew full well Murdoch was no fool and was fully aware of what went on when Scott stayed in Spanish Wells. But that happened infrequently. Unspoken truths between a father and son were one thing, but it had been his experience that a town rarely left things unspoken.

Retracing his steps of the night before, he returned to the kitchen. Thankfully, it was dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the prior morning. Tell tale signs of their late night snack remained on the table. Neither man finished. Both left half eaten cake, crumbs, plates and silverware behind. Scott did a fast clean up to ensure Maria did not begin her day agitated. It would not be good for any of them if she experienced two unpleasant starts in a row.

Maria was a woman of order. From the very beginning, it was one of the things he liked about her. He sought comfort in her regiment, especially after the chaos of those first few hostile days. His new found brother, his father and Day Pardee all contributed to his unrest. And he found himself in the kitchen often. Granted, she was a staff of one, unlike their kitchen in Boston, but in this foreign land it carried a familiarity he welcomed.

She had a place for everything and God save the person who put things into turmoil. Except Johnny, that is. If there was one person to receive special dispensation it was him. It did make sense, since he was the one requiring the most patience. Any attempts at meal preparation, on his brother's part, always ended in a mess, even if he was only making a sandwich. Returning the cake to the pantry Scott couldn't help but laugh at the most recent occurrence, Johnny's attempt to make that Mexican bread pudding Inez was so famous for. Maria's restraint was to be commended. She managed to graciously ask him, no it was less a request than an order, to never attempt it again. He chuckled. No doubt it was the plan all along because from that day forward all Johnny needed to do was mention wanting some in Maria's earshot and it would be placed on the table that evening for desert.

Having finished cleaning up Scott gave the room one final scan before moving into the great room. This room was still blanketed in darkness. Unlike the kitchen, none of the pale rays of dawn had found their way past the heavy drapes. Scott gave himself a few minutes, allowing his eyes to adjust. As he approached the sofa, the fire's waning glow cast little in the way of light and did nothing to generate heat.

Murdoch was slouched in the chair, his feet propped on the footstool his hands limp across his belly. Johnny was still sprawled on the couch. The creases on his brow and restless murmurs told of his discomfort and revealed he was actually asleep. An awake Johnny would have never allowed such groans to pass his lips.

With stealth, he attempted to build up the fire without waking his sleeping family. His attempts failed. He could feel eyes boring into him without turning around. Completing his task, Scott remained crouched and turned to face the unflinching eyes of his brother.

"Is there something I can do for you?" he asked.

"For starters I wouldn't mind something to drink." Scott started to scowl. "Water, Scott, I only want water."

Scott stood. "That I can do, Brother. I'll be right back."

He returned, handing Johnny a glass balancing a water pitcher on the footstool. He watched as Johnny drank thirstily. "Your stomach better this morning?"

"So far, so good."

"How about that leg, ready to get to work?"

"Very funny, Scott"

"Yes, Scott very funny."

Both men's eyes turned toward their father. He massaged his neck then rose from the chair stretching out his back. "You both look like hell."

"If you don't mind me saying so, Sir, you don't look much better yourself."

"No, I don't suppose I do," Murdoch said running a hand across his unruly head of hair.

"So, Scott, when are you taking Willie back?" Johnny asked. Scott took his question as a good sign. A sign that perhaps Johnny was ready to move things along and would indeed discuss things with Murdoch.

"Yes. When?" questioned his father.

The look of dreaded surprise on Johnny's face was palpable. Scott knew instantly that Johnny thought he had revealed too much. He had to stifle a laugh then shook his head hoping the gesture would allay those fears. The release of tension that spread across his brother's face made his omissions to his father, the previous night, less disconcerting.

"Mason and his men have already left. I'll advise Ramón that he is in charge today then have Maria wake Willie. We'll probably be on our way to Spanish Wells in an hour. Unless you have something else in mind."

"No, that sounds good, Scott, thank you," Murdoch said throwing open the curtains allowing the gray light of dawn to seep into the cavernous room.

A sharp nod of his head was Scott's only reply. He turned on his heels, grabbing his coat before stepping through the door. Pulling on his jacket against the morning chill he took a moment before setting out to find Remy first, Ramón second. It was evident already that today would be decidedly warmer and all that remained of the previous day's foul weather was a low hanging fog which valiantly clung to the ground only to be vanquished by the rising sun. Drawing a deep breath he was rewarded with the smells of breakfast. He walked toward the ranch-hand's kitchen and was pleasantly surprised to see all the men seated and eating with reckless abandon. There were three long tables, two of them full. So engrossed in their food no one spoke nor noticed his arrival. All except Remy, that is, who met him with a cup of steaming coffee and a smile.

"Hope you don't mind I got things started early. I fed Mr. Smith and his men first, being none too quiet about it and before I knew it everyone was up and makin' a fussfor breakfast. Hungry?" The young man asked while putting a scoop of fried potatoes on a plate.

"As a matter of fact I am," Scott said as he located Ramón seated alone at the third table. "I'll take it over there."

Scott stepped over the bench and sat across from the ranch hand. The man continued eating without looking up. With his elbows planted firmly on the table Scott blew into his coffee, watching the steam rise with each breath. Tentatively he took a sip. Inwardly, he was hoping for the subtle tastes of cinnamon and vanilla but at the same time was relieved by their absence. He studied the man before him. Ramón was young and had been with them for almost two years. And that ended what Scott knew of the man. As a worker he knew Ramón liked to keep to himself, never caused any trouble, and even though he was quiet, when it came to ranching he was always someone you could rely on. After yesterday, it appeared that felling trees was not his specialty but the men always listened to what he had to say. "You're in charge of the men today," Scott stated matter-of-factly.

Ramón's reaction was disappointing. He continued to eat, saying nothing, not even looking up at Scott's words or when Remy placed Scott's food on the table.

"You did right by Johnny yesterday, and we thank you."

There was still no response.

"You're not making this easy, Ramón. Are you up to the task or aren't you?" Scott felt himself losing patience.

"Si, yo soy," he said offering only a fleeting glance before shoveling more food into his mouth.

"We'll need to go over a few things. Do you think you could pay attention?"

"Si, yo soy." Still he did not look up.

"Are you always this unpleasant?"

"Unpleasant?" he asked, looking at Scott. His dark eyes puzzled.

"No, señor Scott, no significa ser. Lo siento, I should speak English. What I said was, don't mean to be."

"I figured maybe you were angry with Johnny. He got a little carried away yelling at you like he did."

Ramón continued to look at him with a steady gaze. "It was what I deserved. I was careless. I cannot hold a grudge for that, nor would you."

"Grudge or no grudge what you did proves you are a thinking man and as such should be rewarded. A modest pay raise will go along with the responsibilities."

"Gracias, Senor Scott. I pledge to do an honorable job. You will not be disappointed."

"I don't expect to be. You will take Remy with you and he'll prepare the midday meal. I'll arrive later to take him to town for supplies. If you find you need anything you can advise me at that time." Scott offered a smile to the serious young man. "Now, would you like me to announce to the men that you're their boss?"

"No, Senor Scott, that will not be necessary." Without another word he got up from the table. Carrying his empty plate he passed it to Remy then sat at one of the more crowded tables. He spoke softly and the men leaned in to listen then they nodded and went back to their breakfast. He repeated the process with the other table.

Stu was seated at the first table and moved over to where Scott sat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sack of coins.

"Looks like you had a pretty good night, Stu."

"Sure can't complain and fig'ered the least I could do is pay Johnny back. Owe him fifteen dollars. He sure would a had a good time if he was there, though." Stu smiled a broad, yellow-teethed grin. "Boy howdy, did we have a time."

"Yes, well he was indisposed."

The grin vanished. "About that, how's he doin'? Maybe this here money will cheer him up a mote." He pushed the coins across the table. "Kin I see him?" The smile returned.

"Maybe later, Stu." Scott leaned in close and spoke with a confiding air. He knew the man had played faro and hoped to gather some information about the man running the table. "So tell me, what sucker were you playing that you managed to win so much money? Because I've gotta tell you, I wouldn't mind giving the poor sap a go."

Stu leaned back looking smug. "Ain't no sap, Scott. Was at faro."

"Faro? Care to tell me about the man running the table? I'm pretty fair at the game myself, but it helps to know the nature of the banker."

~*~*~*~

Scott's footsteps echoed in the great room long after he left, leaving the two men sharing nothing but an uneasy silence. Johnny struggled to find a comfortable position but couldn't. "Damn leg," he sighed.

"I must say I'm impressed, John, up to now you've been a model patient."

"Yeah, well maybe on the outside, on the inside I'm inchin' to get off this damn couch. I have places to go."

"You don't say." Murdoch's attempt to hide his mirth failed. "And just where do you think you're going to go in that condition?"

"What's so funny? I hate this and it's all my fault, damn careless that's what I was, damn careless. I let things get to me. I never do that, never."

Murdoch scowled before he asked, "What got to you, Johnny? I thought this was just an accident."

The young man continued to move about restlessly. "When did this couch get stuffed with rocks? You'd think there'd be at least one spot left not wore out." He tried to twist to his left side once more and cursed the pain in his leg. "Damn! How much longer can I stay put? I'll tell ya. Not much. Tell Sam to wrap it up tight and give me a God damn crutch. I promise to keep off Barranca, but nothing more."

"Johnny, it's only been one night. Why don't we bring you upstairs, you'll be more comfortable in your own bed."

"I ain't movin till Sam gets his look. The swellin's gone down some and I want him to see that. I can wiggle my toes and bend my ankle. Everything he was askin' me to do last night and… Shit!" he hissed, back arching against the pain. "Well, I ain't sayin it don't hurt," he huffed.

"That's enough." Murdoch sighed deeply. He rose from the chair and walked past Johnny shaking his head.

"Hey, where are you going?" The boyish tone to his voice surprised Johnny and he reached out for his father, not wanting to be left alone. His fingertips only brushed the other man's sleeve before he pulled his arm back. "I didn't mean ta scare ya off," he drawled.

"You didn't," Murdoch paused for a moment then continued toward the stairs. "I thought I'd get a few more pillows. They might help make you more comfortable." He reached the doorway and stopped. Looking back he asked, "Is there something else you want, son?"

Johnny didn't answer. Instead he tried once more to find a comfortable spot. Murdoch took a few steps back toward the couch and looked closely at his son. "Johnny? Is there something else you need?"

His restless movements stopped and he closed his eyes. Why was this so hard? It was a simple request. So why couldn't he look at his father, why were the words so hard to get out? Worry, that's it. He didn't want to cause him to worry, and he would. Guess there is no stopping that, though, cuz according to Murdoch worry comes with the territory.

"Johnny, is there something you need?" Murdoch had moved even closer, Johnny cast him a furtive glance and could see it already etched in his brow. The worry was already there.

He released a long controlled breath. It was as good as a promise, the words he spoke on that hill nearly a year ago. 'Don't think I'm gonna need these again. But, if I ever do, I want you to know I'll come to you first. Does that sit right with you?' He began softly, his eyes turned downward. "Yeah, I think so. I mean I didn't expect to… but do you think… I mean would you…" His head came up and he looked his father in the eye. "Shit. I need my beads."

"Your beads?" Murdoch breathed out. His face lost a bit of its color and he dropped into the chair he was standing beside, his voice was hushed. "But, why? What's going on? Does this have something to do with the boy?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions, Old Man." Johnny forced a smile.

Murdoch took a moment, his slumped shoulders stiffened and the color returned to his cheeks. A look of determination hardened his gaze. "I fail to find humor here, Johnny. This is obviously much more serious than Scott led me to believe." He shook his head. "A few concerns about Remy, and something about his stepfather, my ass. Who are these people and how have they managed to cause so much trouble in a single day?"

"Get my beads and I'll tell you what I know, which ain't much."

"Of course, Johnny, I'll be right back. Then we'll talk." Murdoch stood. Placing a hand on Johnny's shoulder he gave it a squeeze. The gesture went a long way toward reminding Johnny how lucky he was. He dropped his head with a nod.

It was stupid and he knew it. Deep down, he knew that. Just the thought of them, wrapped around his wrist, eased the ache in his chest. As much as he hated the memory of crawling around in the dirt trying to gather up as many of them as he could, he knew then he could never leave them behind. Grayson had ripped them from his wrist in an attempt to disguise Socorro's dead body. In the end all he got was the cross, the cross intended for Inez. Not the beads, he couldn't leave without the beads. They were a part of him then and are still a part of him now. Working with them helped heal his broken hand and his broken heart and gave him strength when he needed it most. Strength he feared he would need again.

He didn't hear when Murdoch approached, only felt the pressure of that large hand pushing him into a sitting position and then the pillows were stuffed behind his back. "Thanks, that's better," Johnny said leaning back and enjoying the new position. "All I need is something under my as… Murdoch?" He sat up straighter searching his father's face. The man looked confused and a little bit sad. "What's wrong?"

Knees buckled and he sank into the chair. "I thought I knew exactly where they were. Perhaps Maria moved them when she dusted." He was talking more to himself than to Johnny.

It was as if all the air was forced from his lungs, there was only one thing Murdoch could be talking about and it didn't sit well. No, it didn't sit well at all. "What Murdoch? What can't you find?" He swallowed hard knowing the words that would come next.

His eyes were distracted and distant. Murdoch leaned back in the chair, his hands going through the motions, pointing at the unseen. "I always kept them right there, next to the picture. Always. But they're gone."

Reaching out, the gentle touch of Johnny's fingers was enough to bring Murdoch's eyes into hard focus. A look of surprise flickered then was gone. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Johnny, but it would seem I've misplaced your beads.

"Shit." Johnny fell back against the pillows, his fingers rubbing where the beads would be - should be. He fought the panic that rose in his chest with one deep breath then another. Thoughts repeated. The same thoughts that raced through his mind while he was waiting ran through once more. It was stupid and he knew it. Deep down, he knew it. Why did he put so much stock in things? They were just beads. He had so much more now. Did he really need them? He looked at his father, sitting there, waiting. Wanting to help, needing to help. And his eyes told the story of a man who loved his son. When Johnny spoke his voice was soft and in full control. "You know, Murdoch, I wouldn't worry about them if I were you. I have everything I need right here."

"I don't understand, son."

"Wouldn't expect you to, and that's okay." Johnny looked toward the large window behind his father's desk. It wouldn't be long now. The sky had turned a brilliant blue and the sounds of a new day would gradually make their way into the great room. This wasn't a talk he planned on having as people milled about. Truth be told, it was a talk he never planned on having. He'd foolishly thought all discussion of the man responsible for taking Maria away was over. Finished on that hill overlooking the flowers she loved so much. When they dug the hole together and planted the bush near the house it was as if they were burying her, something neither man was present for. It allowed them to say good bye. And it gave Murdoch the chance to bury the pain he'd carried with him all those years, understanding it was love, love for Murdoch Lancer that drove her away. And now, when the time for those flowers approached they'd get to dig her up all over again.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

~ Chapter 11 ~

Johnny bit his lower lip and, with eyes closed, drew a deep, exaggerated breath. Up to now it had only been a gnawing ache in his belly. Not anymore. Now all doubt was gone. Now, he was certain, certain the man he'd lived with for nearly four years was somehow connected to Remy.

Gone. His beads were gone. Beads he'd hoped he'd never need again. Why didn't he see that one coming? Should a. Should a known the kind of man he was dealing with. Guess there was still a small piece inside holdin' on to the hope that maybe he was wrong.

'You'd be surprised where a man's weakness lays, John. It could be a vice or a loved one or merely a thing. Everyone has one and once we find it, they'll do anything to protect it.' How many times had he heard those words? How many times had he done the very same thing?

And now, it was his turn. Remy, no doubt, was well rehearsed for the part. The weaknesses of the past could now be combined with those of the present. This was not good. He cared about so many things, so many people. Was everyone at risk? He opened his eyes and released the breath.

"Son, if there is something that needs saying, I would appreciate it if you just came out and said it. The voice caught him off guard. It echoed loud against the silence in the room. "Not knowing is only making me think the worst."

"Murdoch, believe me, whatever worst you got it's still better than what I'm gonna tell you. Hell, if this was easy I would a told you last night with a room full of people. But it ain't. What was I supposed to do? Kick everyone out so we could have a family meeting? It's not like I can follow you around and catch you alone," he said waving a hand over his leg. "I'm kind a stuck, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I realize that, John, but Scott, he could have talked to me, you seem to have found time to talk to him."

The ache in his father's voice caused Johnny to flinch. It was never his intent to hurt the man. "That wasn't my choice. He sort of had me backed in a corner, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, well, consider yourself cornered." Murdoch's eyes spoke louder than his words.

"All I had was my gut, until now. And I gotta tell ya, I needed a hell of a lot more than that before I went and kicked ya in the teeth."

"Yet, you're still having trouble, Johnny. Please, I'm your father. You could be putting people at risk, people I'm ultimately responsible for. What could possibly be so terrible?"

"Murdoch, you're not making this any easier."

"I'm sorry, son, but you have me very concerned. And you are in no condition to take care of anything on your own."

"Don't you think I know that?" The anger in his voice was unsettling. "Sure don't like it, but I know it," he said lowering his voice as he spoke. Fingers went to a bare wrist. "There aren't many…" Johnny said thoughtfully. "There aren't many that know what those beads mean to me." His eyes locked onto his father's. "You do realize that don't you?"

Murdoch leaned back into his chair, his eyes never leaving his son. "Is it that personal?" The question was hushed, all of the previous edge in his voice lost.

"It is."

"And the boy? He's somehow connected to all this? I'm at a loss to..." He stood and walked to the French doors, deep in thought. "Scott said something about his stepfather. You know the man?"

"I believe I do. I also believe we don't need to worry anymore about what Remy will do. For now his job is done. If there's gonna be any hurtin' his stepfather will want to see it firsthand. We just need to find out where he is, and what he wants. A tall order, but that's why Scott is taking Remy to Green River this afternoon. Just wish I could be the one going."

Murdoch turned away from the window. "Johnny? Who is this man? Who exactly are we talking about?"

There were so many unasked questions in his stare Johnny was compelled to look away. Murdoch moved to the back of the couch and putting a hand to his son's chin turned his face, forcing Johnny to look at him.

"Murdoch, do you remember last year, when I…"

"You know I do, Johnny. Those are days I'll never forget." He released Johnny's chin and allowed his hand to brush his son's cheek.

"When we talked on that hill I told you about a man, the man responsible for Mama and me leavin'. Do you remember his name?"

The tall man's eyes narrowed. "Grayson?" Murdoch asked with an outward breath. He leaned heavily on the couch. "You mean…?"

"I wanted to be sure Murdoch. Why spend time diggin' up the past for no reason." He looked into his father's eyes. They were trying to show no emotion, trying not to give anything away. He just didn't have enough practice. "At first I thought I was letting my head make me crazy. I mean, the last time I saw him he was pretty near dead. Dragged him to a doc across the border and made my peace. Usually avoided Nogales after that, at least the American side."

"Grayson." Murdoch repeated.

His voice was strung tight, like fence wire and Johnny reached out to touch his father. "Would be my guess you got a few questions to ask the man."

"Questions? No,I don't imagine he has any answers I want to hear, so what's the point." Murdoch's voice was hardened with hate. "He ruined this family, took away everything that had meaning, took away my hopes and dreams for a united family, took away…" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I remember some of what you told me, the kind of man he was." His eyes were searching now, searching the eyes of his son. "If that's what he took from me, what on earth did he take from you?"

Unable to hold the look from his father, Johnny turned away again.

It was Murdoch's turn to reach out, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Johnny, you surprised me last year when you revealed why she left, and that was a generous gift. My love for her was no longer tainted by questions and misgivings. I'd gone over things in my mind so many times, tried to figure out what I'd done, what I'd said, tried to decide if I'd simply ignored the signs. She always appeared happy, full of life. What did he take from her? And what in God's name did he take from you?"

"God had nothing to do with it." Johnny spoke in a whisper.

"No, I don't imagine he did." Murdoch's voice trailed off. Sounds from the ranch wove their way into the silence. Maria walked in from the kitchen carrying the silver coffee pot and cups on a tray. She offered Johnny a sympathetic smile before setting the tray down on the footstool. She turned to head back into the kitchen without a word. "Maria," Murdoch called out. "We'll take breakfast in the kitchen this morning, not out here. Do you understand?"

"Si, Senor Lancer," she replied.

"And would you wake Willie? She wanted to get an early start."

"Si, Sería mi placer."

"Gracias, Maria."

She nodded and continued toward the kitchen.

Murdoch drifted from the back of the couch to the front and poured a cup of coffee. His actions were unfocused, his eyes revealed deep thought. Without words, he offered the cup to Johnny.

He grimaced, hoping his father would think it was from the pain. "No, Murdoch, think I'll stick with water." He passed his empty glass to his father and watched him fill it from the pitcher Scott had brought in earlier. The sound was pleasing and awakened his thirst.

Sipping from the cup intended for Johnny, Murdoch peered into the dark liquid. "It's not what Remy would have made but…" He stopped. A look of realization settled over his countenance as he looked from the cup to his son. "Was that it? Was it the coffee? Remy said it was the only way his stepfather would drink it."

"Yeah, that's what got me started." Johnny sipped some water and continued. "I'd had it before. Hell, I'd made it that way every day for nearly four years. Tried tellin' myself I was plumb crazy, that it was common."

"Common? In all my years I've never had coffee made that way."

"Can't say I like it much, leastwise not anymore. There was a time though, a time I couldn't wait for my next cup, a time…" He caught himself, not sure what Murdoch's reaction would be. He sucked in a breath and his voice grew louder. "Just came to realize, like ya said, I'd never met anyone else who did that to coffee. So it got me to consider the possibilities. And before I knew it I was yellin' at anyone that looked at me and not payin' full attention."

"Why Johnny? What aren't you telling me?"

"Don't want ya thinkin' any less of me, Murdoch. We've come a long way this year."

"Johnny, there's nothing that can diminish you in my eyes, you have to know that. I mean you were a boy. I am in no position to judge you and neither is anyone else. What was it you said that day? 'How's a boy supposed to know the difference?' He acted like your father, you trusted him, believed in him."

"I did. And when I look back, I know that's why I stayed for so long. I was Remy's age before I came to my senses, by then it was too late." He looked at his father, felt his acceptance and continued. "It's why I won't take any laudanum. I can't go through that again. I'm not that strong."

Murdoch's face clouded with rage and he bent to put down his cup. He let it drop before reaching the tray, the resulting crash split the cup in two. Its contents sloshed into the tray that now tipped precariously to one side and started a steady drip, drip, drip onto the carpet. He ran a hand over his face. "You were just a boy! That bastard! He has hurt too many people, too many people I love, and he needs to be stopped. He and that boy need to be brought to justice!"

"What on earth is all the commotion in here?" Sam asked as he rounded the corner from the stairs. "It is never a good idea to get my patients riled up when they are supposed to be resting."

"Did you know?" Murdoch bellowed. "Did you know why he refused laudanum? You're his doctor. You must have figured it out." The venom in his words caused Sam to step back. Murdoch took a step forward.

Nervously, Sam looked from Murdoch to Johnny. "I had my suspicions, Murdoch. But he never confided in me, if that's what you're asking. After Pardee's bullet, I knew it wasn't easy for him. I knew it took more than it should to relieve his pain."

"Why Sam? Why didn't you tell me?" Murdoch's softened voice faltered revealing how deeply he felt the betrayal. "You are my friend."

"That is exactly why. You were having a hard enough time coming to terms with the man he was. Why on earth would I give you information that would make it even more difficult? Plus I did it for Johnny because I am his doctor. I'm not a fool, Murdoch, and I most certainly do not go spouting off at the mouth when it comes to my patient's concerns."

"Now, Murdoch," Johnny interrupted, trying to calm his father. "Don't be takin' your anger out on the wrong people. Look where it got me yesterday." He swept a hand over his leg.

Murdoch was not deterred. "Then why did you offer him some yesterday? Shouldn't it be avoided?

"I don't appreciate being second guessed, Murdoch. He's a grown man, capable of making his own decisions. I know he'd never come right out and ask, so over the years I have always offered. Yesterday was the closest I've seen him come to accepting."

Eye's blazed as Murdoch and Sam appeared ready to continue their discourse. The sound of Willie's voice brought a sigh of relief from Johnny and both Murdoch and Sam looked up in time to see her emerge from the kitchen. "That was a delicious breakfast, thank you, Maria. I really shouldn't have taken the time but everything smelled so good."

Sam seized the opportunity for a change in subject. "Good breakfast you say? I hope there'll be some left after I finish here. I'm starving." He turned toward Johnny. "Let's get started, shall we?"

"The sooner you start the sooner I can make plans. Please, Sam."

"Plans? I don't think so. The only plans in your future are how to get up to your room. This couch must be getting uncomfortable by now." He put on his glasses. "You've done a good job at keeping it elevated, the swelling has gone down considerably but this bruising is another matter." He poked and prodded eliciting stifled groans intermingled with the occasional curse from his reluctant patient. "You're entire lower leg is going to be very tender for quite some time. Now can you…?"

"Yes, I can wiggle my toes, and yes I can move my ankle." Johnny snapped his answer to the doctor's unfinished question. He didn't like being poked and there was still so much left unsaid between him and his father he resented the interruption. "Ain't sayin' it don't hurt but, like I said yesterday, my ankle ain't broke and neither are my toes. So just wrap me up and you can be on your way."

"Hmpf!" Sam looked from one man to the other and both offered an icy stare. "To think I came downstairs in good spirits," Sam said, waving a hand in the general direction of the steps. "Between the two of you, those good spirits have been nipped in the bud. And now you think you're ready to practice medicine. Well, I have news for you young man…"

Up to now Willie had kept her distance, but as Sam's voice continued to rise and Murdoch's face reddened in anger she moved swiftly across the room. Threading her arm through Sam's she pulled him back from his position at the end of the couch. Her voice was soft yet firm leaving no doubt she meant business. "I suggest you take a deep breath, Sam, and regain that pleasant disposition. I don't think there is much patience in this room, and you would be wise to practice some."

Sam straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he cast a fleeting glance toward Willie. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Forgive me. It's been so long, I'd forgotten how bad you were at being a patient," he said to Johnny before turning to Murdoch. "And you were at being an anxious father. As I was about to say, I do believe you are the luckiest unlucky man I've ever met."

"And how's that?" Johnny groused.

"You are right about your foot and ankle, but up here, higher on your leg…"

Sam applied pressure causing Johnny to stiffen. "Shit, Sam, what the hell did ya do that for?"

Ignoring the remark the doctor continued. His hands traveled up the bruised and tender leg until he finally ended his search. "Here. This must be the point of initial impact. I can feel it, right.... there..."

Willie still stood beside Sam and watched, wide-eyed, as Johnny clenched his teeth and tried to twist away from the excruciating pain. The remnants of a muffled cry escaped, catching him off guard and forcing him to gasp for breath. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and upper lip.

"Sam!" Murdoch's thunderous voice made his frustration known. "There had to have been a better way than that!" He hastened to his son's aid sending the delicately balanced tray crashing to the floor. Willie moved equally as fast and grabbed the water pitcher as it teetered, clutching it to her breast. She knelt to the floor beside Johnny and pulled a fresh handkerchief from her pocket, dipped it in the pitcher and began wiping the sweat from his forehead. Murdoch stood at the head of the couch, his large hands pressed to Johnny's shoulders. Both pairs of eyes looked at Johnny then each other before turning their penetrating stares on the doctor.

His face was hardened when he looked up from his task and into their faces. "Do you think that was easy for me? Well, it wasn't. But it was my best plan of action. I'm sorry, but giving fair warning would have not made it hurt any less." Sam's eyes fell to Johnny. "Forgive me, the worst is over, I promise you."

Still breathless, with eyes squeezed shut, Johnny nodded. "Gotta tell ya, Sam." He gulped another breath. "I'm not feelin' the lucky part."

"Believe it or not, the lucky part is the location of the break. Being the smaller bone in your leg and this high up on your calf means it bears little weight. If it were the larger bone, the tibia, here, or if it were lower, closer to your ankle, you'd be in a plaster cast for weeks. So, even though you will be on bed rest until it starts to knit you won't require a cast, just a splint to keep the bone from shifting and a bandage. But, and I say but, this in no way means you can take this injury lightly. I expect you to stay off it. You can, with help, make your way from bed to couch but that is the extent of your travels. Have I made myself clear?"

Johnny squinted his eyes open, clamped his mouth shut and nodded. Pain still pulsed through his leg and the water in his belly was searching for a way out. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd been asked. In fact, he'd heard little of what Sam had to say. It just seemed the answer Sam was looking for and his brain wasn't working much past that. He watched Willie dip the hanky once more and wring out the excess. Johnny pried open her fingers and took the cloth from her hand. He let it fall open and pressed it to his still heated cheeks.

"Good." Sam looked around and pulled a blanket off a nearby chair. "You're going to feel cold soon," he said as he tucked the blanket in close to his upper body. "The pain heats you up, so you sweat, once the pain is over your body cools quickly leaving you chilled. I suggest some tea."

With the cloth still covering his face, Johnny shook his head. Tea was the last thing he wanted added to his still rebelling stomach.

"Nevertheless, I'll ask Maria to prepare some."

"She already is, Sam," stated Willie. She and Murdoch were working to clear the shards of china from the carpet. She stood carrying the glass in her skirt. "I'll check on it. But we were hoping to allow it to steep longer. It works better."

"And tastes worse," Johnny voiced as he removed the cloth.

"That may be true, but it will help, Johnny," Sam said, continuing with his treatment. "Honestly, the sheer agony of this injury would keep most men off their feet without strict doctor's orders. Unfortunately, I can't count on that with you, you are a stubborn mule."

"Ah yes, I must agree with him on that point, Brother, you are stubborn." Scott made his entrance through the front door removing his hat. He brushed past Willie and dusted her cheek with a kiss while peering into the folds of her skirt. "Broken glass? And no Remy in sight? Is this becoming a habit for you?"

"Not funny, Scott," she scoffed then left the room.

"I see everyone chose to rise early today. The wagon's packed and I'm ready to head to Spanish Wells, whenever she's ready."

"Give me a few more minutes," She said returning with several cloths, a whisk broom and dust pan. "We can't have Johnny stepping on broken glass with his good foot, or anyone else, for that matter."

Scott walked deeper into the room. "We all have a busy day," he said with a gloved clap.

"No, Scott, not all," Johnny growled.

He peered over the back of the couch at his brother. "You're not looking so good." His eyes traveled from Johnny to his father's tense face.

"Sam, just set the bone." Murdoch's spiritless tone revealed his fatigue.

"He did it so fast, with no warning. It took us all by surprise. I felt so helpless," Willie confessed from her spot on the floor.

"Perhaps this will help, Brother. It's from Stu. Said he owed you." Scott fished in his pocket and handed Johnny the fifteen dollars Stu gave him over breakfast. "He won again at faro and had a few interesting things to say about a man calling himself Ace Gray."

"You don't say," said Johnny. "Gray, Grayson I'd say we're on the right track."

"That's Remy's last name. Isn't it?" Murdoch asked.

"It is." Scott looked from Johnny to Murdoch. "I'm hoping Johnny made good on his promise?"

"He did," Johnny bemoaned. "At least he started to."

"Good then everything is out in the open. That certainly makes things easier."

"Yes, and as long as things are in the open, you should know I plan on going with you to Green River," Murdoch stated.

"Sir, do you really think that's best? I mean considering... Johnny, talk him out of it," Scott pleaded.

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions and my mind's made up." He glared at his elder son. "Do you have any objections?"

"Several, but I'll keep them to myself."

"Good!"

Sam looked at Willie and smiled a terse smile. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather go back with me? I think we are the only two operating an even keel today."

"Thank you, Sam, but no." She turned to Scott and added. "I'll get rid of these things and will be ready to go."

He placed a hand on the small of her back as she walked past. With his hat back on his head he turned to face Murdoch. "It wasn't my intention to come back to the ranch. I'm picking up Remy at the camp then heading directly to Green River. If you insist on joining me you'll have to meet me there. My only hope is by then Johnny will have talked you out of this."

"I'll be there, Scott," Murdoch said as he followed him to the door.

Willie hurried from the kitchen. She stood on her toes and the tall man bent slightly allowing her to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she said.

"It's always a pleasure. I Hope you come back soon, Willie." He gave her arm a tender squeeze. Murdoch closed the door only to catch sight of Teresa running down the stairs. "Oh dear, did I miss her? I promised her this book, 'The Dead Letter' and I only just found it."

"You can catch her, Dear," Murdoch said as he reopened the door. Teresa rushed out.

Murdoch returned to the great room only to see Sam making the final wraps of Johnny's bandage, the pain of the procedure written all over his son's face.

"That should do it," said Sam. "The less you rest the more it will swell and the more it will hurt. I don't want to hear the bandage needed to be rewrapped, but if you feel tingling or your toes feel cold that is exactly what will be required. And that will mean you didn't listen to me. Plus it will add time to the healing process."

"I hear ya, Doc and I promise to do my best."

"Yes, that's what worries me." He packed away his belongings and closed his bag with a snap. "Now, I think I'll have breakfast before heading back. I'll check on you before I leave."

"Is it alright if Murdoch helps me upstairs, Sam? Feelin' kinda tired and think I'd rest better in my own bed."

Sam stopped and turned to face Johnny, his hands on his hips. "Why do I get the distinct impression you're trying to placate me?"

"Not sure I know what that is, Sam, but if it means I'm trying to follow your orders the answer is yes." Johnny tried his best to grin, but he knew it was less than convincing.

Shaking his head Sam smiled when Teresa returned from outside. "Would you care to join me for breakfast? I find the men here today to be quite infuriating."

"That's nothing unusual, Sam. Try living with them."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

*~Chapter 12~*

"Seems we've finally been left alone again, Murdoch," Johnny said when Sam took Teresa's arm and escorted her into the kitchen for breakfast. "Do you see why this couldn't have been discussed last night?"

"Yes, Johnny, unfortunately I do." Murdoch spoke in a subdued tone. "I just don't like being kept in the dark when it comes to matters of importance." He paused, his elbow resting on the mantel, absentmindedly rubbing his chin with his thumb. Without looking at anything in particular he spoke. "I'm going into town, so you might as well save your breath."

"Never took you to be a fool, Murdoch. For the life of me I don't understand what you hope to gain."

The older man looked at his son. "Not planning on being a fool, Johnny. It's time I met the man. I mean, I was married to his wife. Seems only fair."

"Fair? Don't for one minute think you can play fair with him. He hates you, or at least he did. And I can't imagine that's changed none. By now, I'm sure he believes the lies he's told. Ya tell a lie often enough and it starts to ring true. Ain't right but that's how it is."

"Yes, Johnny, I'm sure it is. But, it's me, I'm the one… it's just something I have to do."

"I've met a lot of men like him over the years, Murdoch, men who live off hate more than breathin'. Hell, for a time, I was one of those men. But, some of us come to realize that hate only eats ya up inside and if you don't stop it there'll be nothing else left."

"Johnny, I'm not looking for a confrontation with the man."

"You may not be. But he ain't here by coincidence and neither is Remy. You just might end up with a bullet in your back, that's all I'm sayin'."

"I would think if that's all he wanted to do it could have been done with less fanfare than this." He released a long low sigh. "There is nothing you can say to talk me out of going and you can be sure I'm going to march Remy right into Val's office and have him arrested. I don't want him on this ranch. In fact, I'm not sure why you didn't make that demand the moment you…"

"Not sure you can blame the boy, Murdoch," Johnny drawled, eyes turning away. He looked back at his father and spoke more forcefully. "I know - I know he hasn't been on the true but…" His voice quieted again. "Scott said he has a sister?"

"Yes, he told us that the first day. Said she was with their step-father and that their mother was dead."

Johnny's shoulders slumped. "If the boy loves his sister, then he has no choice, you do realize that don't you? If Mama hadn't died and we were both with Grayson, I would have done anything, Murdoch, anything to spare her pain. With her gone… well, there were some things I just wouldn't do. Didn't care if he used the strap on me but if I'd had to watch him do that to her, because of me… Like I said there isn't anything I wouldn't have done."

"That makes Remy dangerous, Johnny, and all the more reason he should be locked up, if for no other reason than to protect him from this mad man."

Johnny laughed. "And who's going to protect her, Murdoch. That's all Remy is trying to do. That's all."

Exasperated, Murdoch threw his hands in the air. "I'm unable to give this boy any sympathy. Look what he's done to you. You are my first priority in this, not him and certainly not his sister! I want to get your beads back. You gave them to me for safe keeping and look what I've allowed to happen. They're not getting away with any of this and that includes that bastard Grayson!"

"Murdoch, are you listening to yourself? You're already letting him win. You've snapped at Sam for somethin' he had nothing to do with and now you're ready to throw Remy and his sister to the wolves." Johnny sat up on the couch and, ignoring the pain, carefully guided his leg to rest on the footstool. "By the time this is over you'll be no better than Grayson." The words were out, hanging frozen in mid air between them. He wished he could reach out and pull them back, but of course he couldn't.

Murdoch's weary eyes narrowed and he sucked in a jagged breath. "How can you say that, Johnny?" His gut-wrenching gaze shattered those words and left Johnny feeling weak. "I'd like to think there are certain lines I won't cross."

"Dios, Murdoch, I'm sorry. It's just that… Shit, I'm so sorry." There weren't any words that could take that away. How could he ever compare Murdoch to Grayson?

"I know, Johnny." The tall man eased himself onto the couch next to his son. "He knows where to strike, doesn't he? Knows exactly what strings to pull."

"Oh yes, and before you know it you're not thinkin' with your head anymore, you're letting your emotions rule the game."

"Johnny, I'm not sure I can keep emotions out of this and neither can you. Does that mean we're destined to fail?"

"Can't say I've met anyone that's beat the man. Though I knew a few that thought they had." He offered his father a sad smile.

Placing a large hand at the back of Johnny's neck Murdoch smiled. "You, Johnny. You won." He thought for a moment then added, "And me. I have you and Scott, both my boys. No matter how hard he may have tried to make my life miserable, he failed. I'm happy now, and have everything I could possibly want. If Grayson had won, our lives would all be very different. I'd probably be dead, killed by my own son's hand."

Johnny dropped his head, feeling the pain of those words and knowing how easily they could have been made true. "My dance ain't done yet and neither is yours, thought it was but I was wrong. And as for winnin', can you say any of us have won when we've lost so much? People we love and years stolen from our lives? I see no victory. The only way I'll win is when I see that man dead and even then I bet he'll be smilin'."

"I think you may be right about that, son. But none of this changes the fact that it's about time I meet him. I'm not going to wait for him to come to me, to us."

"Don't you see? He already has. He sent Remy. I don't know what he's after, hell I can't even figure out what he wants us to do next. I'm all turned around inside, Murdoch. Don't know which end is up."

"You're tired, Johnny. And you're hurting. Let's get you up to your room and settled in bed. Scott and I will try to get a feel for the man. And we'll talk to Val. Does Val know anything about him?"

"Nope, no one knew about Grayson, until I told you last year. In case ya ain't noticed, I don't go around talkin' about things I'd just a' soon forget. Not even ta friends like Val."

"Here." Murdoch extended his arm as he rose cautiously from the couch. "Let's get you moving. I'll apologize now for hurting you. You won't want to hear it once we get upstairs."

Johnny stood and closed his eye to the hammering pain. He felt his father's arm wrap around him taking as much weight as he could and together they moved slowly toward the stairs. Once in his room he laid back on his bed with a contented sigh. Murdoch arranged the pillows under his leg. Johnny struggled to watch every move but his eyes were growing heavy. Standing by the door, Murdoch was ready to leave. "Is there anything else you need before I go?"

With eyes closed Johnny could feel the tug of sleep. Even the constant throb in his leg was losing its battle to keep him awake. "Murdoch?"

"Yes, son."

"Let Grayson think he has the upper hand. Until we can come up with a plan he needs to think he's winning. Let Remy give him the beads. Let him play the cards the way he wants to. You're right, ya know. If all he wanted was you or me dead, we wouldn't be talkin' about it. He enjoys this game too much to have it over in the blink of an eye." Johnny made the motion of snapping his fingers but the attempt was feeble and his hand fell limply back to his chest.

Murdoch turned from the door, pulled the covers up over his sleeping son and left the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Willie leaned into Scott, resting her head on his shoulder. Scott had watched her struggle to keep her eyes open and knew she was losing the battle. "Sleepy?" he asked.

He felt the nod of her head.

"I suppose that's my fault. Sorry about that."

This brought her head up. "Don't you ever apologize for that, Scott Lancer," she said with a playful swat to his belly.

"That's good to know, that's very good to know." He passed the lines to one hand and wrapped his free arm around her as she snuggled in closer and fell asleep. They rode like this most of the way into Spanish Wells until Scott spied the small stand of trees on the outskirts of town. He hurried the horses on and drove into their welcoming shade. Willie stirred once the wagon came to a stop and she looked around, confused.

"Why did we stop? Is something wrong?"

"No Willie, nothing is wrong," Scott said with a smile.

"Then why have we stopped?" She looked around. "Where are we?"

"You don't know?"

She looked around once more, rubbing her eyes awake. "We're right outside of town. But, why?"

"Because, My Dear, I wanted a moment of your time. And I'm not sure when that will happen in the next few days or weeks for that matter. Not with all that's going on."

He jumped from the wagon and walked to her side giving her his hand. "Please," he said.

She obliged and he took her hand and guided her to a particular tree. "Do you remember this tree?"

"Of course I do. What do you take me for? This is exactly the spot where we shared our first kiss."

"You are correct. And do you know what else happened on this very spot?"

She looked at Scott puzzled. "Now you have me at a disadvantage, because I cannot think of another thing."

Scott reached into his pocket and got down on one knee. "This is the exact spot where I asked you to marry me."

Willie looked at him and tears streamed down her cheeks. She stepped back and spun to face the tree. Her face buried in her hands as she sobbed deeply. "I'm not sure that I can."

He reached out and gently touched her shoulder and she responded by falling into his arms. "This isn't the reaction I was going for you know." He lifted her chin and she smiled through her tears.

"I don't imagine it was."

"You do love me, right?"

"Oh, yes, Scott, I love you. More than anything."

"And I love you. And want you to share my life and my bed and I want you to be the one to bear my children and…"

"Stop! I can't marry you, Scott. I can't… I've wanted to tell you, but I just never expected things to happen this fast. You deserve more than I can give you. It just wouldn't be fair."

Scott felt his heart stop. Not simply skip a beat, but stop. In an instant it turned from a life giving organ into a leaden burden to be carried. Disbelief made his voice weak. "Don't you think I should be able to decide what is fair or not? Or at least have a part in the decision?"

Willie pulled away and climbed back into the wagon. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and sat tall. "I need to get back to the café. People will be wondering where I am."

With a deep sigh and a heavy heart Scott walked to his side of the wagon. Willie looked at some point on the horizon. Scott followed her line of sight but there was nothing there of interest. He climbed in and without saying a word and with a snap of the lines got the horses moving. The remainder of the ride was made in silence.

They pulled up at the back door of the café since there were many items that needed to be unloaded. Willie slipped from her seat and moved to unlock the door. She left it open and hurried inside. She started the fire in her stove and began to prepare the coffee as Scott carried in the assortment of dishes and other kitchen items. The last thing he brought in was the book Teresa had rushed out to give Willie. "Teresa would be very disappointed if I returned home with this," he said handing her the book.

"Yes, thank you. She has done nothing but talk about it since she read it. I don't think it's necessary that I read it, I think she has divulged the entire plot."

"Regardless, I won't disappoint her by bringing it back. I'll leave the disappointment up to you. You seem to be very good at it."

She reached out and touched his arm. "Scott, I'm not trying to hurt you. You have to believe me. Actually I'm trying to spare you pain. I know that doesn't make sense now, but it will."

"If you don't talk to me, Willie, how can it ever make sense?"

Tears welled in her eyes again and she shook her head. "I love you so very much."

"So you say."

"You do know I was married to David for six years? Right?"

"Of course. And he has been gone for nearly two. You have mourned enough, Willie, the town won't think any less of you for marrying."

"I could care less about what the likes of Mrs. Wilkes, Mrs. Godfrey, or Mrs. Delaney thinks. What I care about is you and what you think."

"I don't know what I think. You aren't talking to me."

"Six years, Scott, and never one child," she sobbed and her shoulders shook. "It's not because we didn't want children, on the contrary, we wanted children more than anything, but… I let him down, Scott. David's only regret on his deathbed was he left no one behind to carry on his name. I won't let that happen to you."

"But, Willie…"

"But nothing, Scott, every time you speak of the future you always talk of your children, I won't deny you that. I am not that selfish. I should not have allowed things to go on as long as they have and I am very sorry for that. Now if you'd please leave." She turned her back and Scott could see the roll of her shoulders as she sobbed silently into her hands. He stood there unable to move. He wanted to reach out to her but by the same token was unclear on the fact that she may be right. The two notions had always been part of the same thought, the same breath, and the same beat of his heart. Did his desire for a family outweigh his love for Willie? And did the fact that he even needed to ask himself that question mean he already knew the answer?

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

~*Chapter 13*~

Restless, that was exactly how Murdoch felt upon leaving Johnny's room. Restless and unsettled like the cattle before a storm. Milling about with no real purpose, no clear goal, only the need to be someplace else, anyplace else. His mind whirled unremittingly. What did he hope to gain by going to Green River? Did he even possess a plan or was it unadorned curiosity?

It had been less than a year. Up until that time he'd never heard of a man named Horace Grayson. There was a certain paradox to this. This man affected every decision he'd made for over twenty years, stole things beyond measure and yet, he remained unknown. All those years ago he was a mysterious figure, 'some kind of a gambler – or something. She just packed up and left with him'. That's what was said in whispers, behind his back. As if people thought he didn't know. Hell, everyone knew. After that, for a spell, men had trouble looking him in the eye. And women? Women would look at him with sadness and shake their heads then follow up with an invitation to dinner. He scoffed softly. If he had a nickel for every dinner invitation… well, he always said, no. Murdoch Lancer had no use for anyone's pity. And there's where it started, the hate for his wife and the ache for his son. All thanks to one man, a man, now with a name, but, as yet, no face.

To think, all these years he'd thought it was a string of men that lured her away, that the gambler was only one of many. If only she'd confided in him that she was another man's wife. But, what if she had? This was not the sort of thing that could be done away with privately. And what of her faith? She was a deeply Christian woman. This disgrace destroyed her, and, even if they had managed to acquire a divorce would she have been unaffected? She would have been the talk of the valley. What would that have done to how they saw Johnny? As it was he was of mixed heritage to then be labeled a bastard as well? Would he have still grown up with so much hate? Were the cards already dealt the day he met Maria in Matamoros?

Murdoch pressed his fingers to his temples. All this thought was getting him nowhere. It's only accomplishment, a headache. Yet still his mind raced, switching its thoughts from Maria to Grayson. There wasn't much he knew of the man. Only the bits and pieces he'd gathered from Johnny. And from that he knew this was a despicable man, a man with little regard for human life.

An angry fist pounded his desk, as the simmering hate burst forth, needing a place to escape. The sound startled him out of his reverie, and he looked about the room. He blinked and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He did not clearly remember coming down the stairs let alone sitting at his desk. The chair pushed back when he rose and bumped against the wall then the window. It went unnoticed as he began to pace the great room.

What do you say to a man like that? Do you make him feel guilty? Is a man like this even capable of feeling guilt? Do you prove to him he failed? Would this have the desired effect? Do you lower yourself to his level and try to rob him of the very thing he cares about most? But what does a man like Grayson value? Money? This was not a wealthy man when Johnny lived with him. So the trappings of money didn't seem to hold sway then. Do they now? Would the offer of cold hard cash send the man on his way?

Possessions? Did he own things that mattered? When he was with Johnny, they never stayed anywhere long, never lived in a house, always traveled by horseback, stayed God knows where. How many possessions could a man have, living in the world like that? Ostensibly, if Johnny was any example, damn few, damn few indeed.

He was traveling with two others… children once - not so much anymore. How long had Remy and his sister been with him? Was that even mentioned that first day? He couldn't recall. They came from Nogales. The very town Johnny left Grayson. To die? How many years ago would that be now? Seven? Maybe eight? Johnny left at what? Sixteen? And now he was twenty four. That was a long time for these children to be with him. Does he value them? Care for them? Does Grayson care for anyone?

Murdoch found himself on the veranda without any awareness of how he got there. The rattle of Sam's buggy jerked him from his ruminations. Young Pedro was getting it ready, harnessing the roan mare. Sam. He owed Sam an apology. He should have never made his dear friend out to be the enemy. Walking back in through the front door he was relieved to see the good doctor descending the stairs.

"He's sleeping," Sam stated in a muted voice.

"I know."

"It is the best thing for him."

"I know that too." Both men stood at the foot of the stair. "Look, Sam, I'm sorry. I stepped way over the line. I know you only have his best interest at heart."

"Murdoch, I'm afraid I let anger get the better of me as well. I've practiced medicine more years than I care to admit, and I've never allowed myself the luxury of indignation. I hope Johnny can forgive me."

"If there was ever a man capable of forgiveness it's Johnny. You know that, Sam."

"Yes, but I should have been more considerate, advised him of what I was about to do. Frankly, I am ashamed."

"Sam, you are taking the wind out of my apology. We are only human, after all, when attacked it is only natural to attack back. I never should have blamed you for the actions of another man."

"Another man, Murdoch? I'm afraid there is a lot more going on here than I'm privy to. If you need someone to talk to…I guess you know your words will reach no other ears."

"Yes, Sam. That is as it should be. Johnny needed that trust all those years ago. I fear he hadn't known much."

"No, Murdoch. I think we both know how much he suffered as a boy."

"Do we?" Murdoch stepped back outside feeling the walls close around him with the realization he knew very little. Each tiny crevice opened up vast new valleys of despair. He looked at his friend. "How was it possible for any goodness to have survived?"

"He knew love, Murdoch. Maria loved him. I asked him once and he was almost surprised by the question. You have to believe it was not all dark." Together they walked to the waiting buggy. "Spring is coming Murdoch and just the other day I saw something that made me think or your son. In back of my office is a large bolder. Do you know the one I mean?"

Murdoch nodded.

"There is a small plant growing up out of a crack in that rock. It seems impossible but it's there. Somehow it took root. It found what it needed. Of course it will get to the point where it needs more than the surroundings can offer and being a plant it will wither and die but Johnny grew restless, and it was that restlessness that was his salvation. It's who he is, Murdoch. Another boy would not be so lucky."

"Thank you, Sam." Murdoch placed a hand on the doctor's arm and finished with a gentle pat. "I'll see you soon? When will you check on him next?"

"I'll try to come out tomorrow afternoon. If not, then Monday. Make sure he rests, will you? That restless spirit can be a blessing, but it can also interfere with his healing."

"Don't I know it, Sam, don't I know it." He watched his friend pull away and walked back into the house. It suddenly occurred to him that he was hungry and made his way toward the kitchen.

~*~*~*~

Glass panes in the door rattled as it closed. He didn't mean to slam it, though that was more or less how it sounded. Scott leaned back against it still not believing what had just happened. Willie said no. No. Scott Lancer, known for figuring all the angles had missed one. And now he stood there with a hole in his heart as surely as if it were put there by a sniper's bullet. Absentmindedly he ran his hand across his chest half expecting to feel the warmth of fresh blood. There was none.

He looked around. Climbing into the wagon he chose not to go down the main street but to cut around the back of the buildings instead. Why he felt the need to be unnoticed he couldn't say. Saturday mornings were usually busy in town and this one was no exception. The boardwalks were already crowded and several wagons were pulled up in front the Wilkes' store. At this very moment what he really wanted to do was head for home, climb back into bed and pull the covers over his head for about a week. That was out of the question. Self pity never suited him, and he wouldn't start wearing it now.

The wagon had reached the rear of Sam's office. Normally, his buggy would be sitting just outside the back door and his mare in the lean-to. The gate to the small paddock was flung open, evidence of Sam's hasty retreat. Of course he was still at Lancer. Something caught his eye, a flash of green. It seemed unlikely but there it was, a tiny plant growing up out of the boulder that resided beside the shed. Scott pulled his wagon to a stop and climbed down. It was generally not like him to notice something as insignificant as a small plant, but this one was bucking all odds. Peering at it closely, he found a cluster of dirt wedged into the small fissure. A seed, no doubt dropped by a bird, had taken root. Against all odds, it found what it needed to survive, as unconventional as it may be. He had no idea what kind of plant it was, but there it was, with a blossom beginning to form, and he was struck by the audacity of this tiny flower. He climbed back into the wagon and with a snap of his wrist was moving again. He continued out of town and toward the logging camp.

The rock and sway of the wagon occupied his mind for a time, trying to anticipate each pitch. Then he focused on trying to avoid them all together. This, however, only worked for so long. Thoughts of Willie kept creeping in no matter how hard he tried to avoid them. Was she right? No, she couldn't be. He loved her, needed her. But she was right in what she said. Any thought of their life together included children. He had never considered not being a father. So many years of his life were spent longing for one. It was only natural to want to be the kind of father he always dreamed of having. Wasn't it? Did that desire make him wrong? There was always a chance, wasn't there? That tiny plant had grown where none should have. Maybe a child was not out of the question. But would it be wrong to enter into marriage with that hope? Would it wither into disappointment and blame if Willie ended up being right? After all, they had been together in that way more than once, had she too clung to hope? Had she prayed to be proven wrong?

Off in the distance he could just make out the top of Sam's buggy. Scott was relieved that he would be turning off the road toward the camp before they would be close enough for words. He had no intention of speaking with the doctor, and as he turned away removed his hat and offered an exaggerated wave. Sam returned the gesture. There was another thing Scott had no intention of doing, and that was waiting for his father. It was bad enough he would now have to endure a ride to Green River with Remy by his side. He did not want to suffer through the stares and unasked questions of his father. Granted Murdoch didn't know the timing of his proposal, only Johnny knew that, but he did know of his intensions. It was, after all, his mother's ring, he would bestow on Willie, given to him with the blessings of both his father and his grandfather. He bit back the pain in his heart with a sharp intake of breath. There were other things to consider today. He could not afford to dwell on his misfortune, plenty of time for that later. Nor could he afford to scare the boy off. He wanted some answers and the ride to town would be the perfect time.

Surprise seemed the order of the day when Remy sat on a felled tree, waiting. His noonday meal simmered in a large cook pot, the area neat and orderly. For some reason, Scott, half expected him to have run off, but there he sat. "I'm glad you're ready."

"Yup, all done." He nimbly hopped into the wagon and green eyes flashed a smile. "They can eat and I'll pick up when we come back."

Scott eyed him carefully. There was no smile offered in return. "What's happened, Remy? You're no longer that clumsy boy who ran into me just a few short days ago. It would appear life at Lancer agrees with you."

"It sure does. Wish I could stay here forever."

"You'd like that? What of your stepfather and your sister? Wouldn't you miss them?"

The young man began to fidget, his feet kicking at the floorboards. He pulled the hat from his head and ran his fingers through his too long dark hair. After several minutes, he finally answered. "Would miss my sister," he said softly.

"Not your pa?"

"Not so much. He don't really like me."

"Now why would you say that?"

"I'm not the kind a boy he wants. He don't want a boy who can cook. He wants a real boy, one who can ride a horse and shoot a gun. Cain't do any a those things."

"Is that why you ran away?"

Remy stiffened and his voice grew defensive. "I'm old enough. I can do for myself. Look if ya don't want me around, I got other places."

"You do, do you? Name one." If he weren't so irritated Scott would have found this new attitude funny.

"Ain't gonna tell you, you don't care."

"Why should I, Remy? You're not being completely truthful with me. And to think, you said you could trust me."

"I do trust ya." The boy's voice softened, making him sound younger that his years.

"You have a rather odd way of showing it. I asked why you ran away. Though I don't think that's what I'd call it, exactly."

"You callin' me a liar? I ain't lied ta you one lick, not one."

"That may be true, but there is a lot of truth you're not sharing and in my book that is the same thing. Now, why don't you tell me why you're here?"

"I told ya, I was runnin' away."

"I think that's a lie. I think you're here at the request of your stepfather. Did he send you?"

"What if he did?"

Scott stopped the wagon and looked at Remy. "If he did, then I want to know why," Scott said trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "It is a reasonable request. So I will ask again. Did your stepfather send you?" His question was met with silence this time. Anger seeped into his words when he asked a third time. "He sent you here, didn't he?"

"Not so much."

"What's that supposed to mean, not so much? He either sent you or he didn't." Scott's patience was wearing thin. His tone matched his frustration.

"It's kind a like I was curious. Didn't mean no harm."

"I'm having a hard time believing you, Remy. Why were you in Johnny's room? He thinks you may have put something there."

"No, not me." Protesting his innocence, he raised his hands and shook his head. "Just wanted to see him, find out what kinda boy I was supposed ta be. Never meant to cause no problem. Just see. Pa knew him when he was young, younger than me and he… he… Shit, he could ride better and shoot better than I ever could. Do you know what it's like to never be good enough?"

Scott felt every ounce of his patience slip away. "You're lying. This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with your pa," Scott spat. He looked away and spotted Murdoch cresting the hill. He had hoped to reach the road and the cover of trees before Murdoch sighted of them, which would have sent him to the camp before trying to catch up. If only he hadn't stopped. This was not turning into a very good day.

With a crack of the lines, he got the horses moving again. "I don't really care if you felt like a second fiddle. What I do care about is my brother and what your pa wants with him. So I would appreciate it if you would fill me in. Because my father is racing down that hill as we speak, and I have the distinct impression his patience will be more fleeting than mine."

"He asked me to look for these." Remy reached deep into his front pocket and pulled out Johnny's strand of blue beads. "Pa said these meant a lot to both of them, that when Johnny left he left nothing behind." He flashed a smile. "Sure, never expected to find 'em so easy, just lying on your pa's dresser. Reckon he's found out and that's what's got him all fired up."

Scott laughed a soft dismissive laugh. "That's the only reason you gave them up, because you think you've been caught? Not very noble of you, Remy. See if that works on Murdoch, but you've garnered no sympathy from me. From what I've learned about your pa I don't see him as a sentimental man. And I don't believe for a moment that's why he wants those beads. I'm not sure why they mean so much to my brother, but I do know they mean more to him than they ever could to your stepfather making your little tale exactly that, a tale. Now, care to redeem yourself?"

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

~*~Chapter 14~*~

"Scott," Murdoch shouted as he raced up beside the wagon and reigned to a halt. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

With the release of an exaggerated sigh he pulled the wagon to a stop. "Didn't need to. You knew where we were going." Scott's words were brusque.

"Is something bothering you?" Murdoch asked.

"Me? Why on earth would something be bothering me? Johnny has a broken leg, Jelly is still in Modesto and now I'm playing nursemaid to a kid that sneaks into houses and steals." Scott grabbed Remy's wrist and shook it in the air. "Johnny's beads," he said as they swung from the boy's fingers.

"Let him keep them." Murdoch did his best to hide the strain in his voice and by Scott's reaction he'd succeeded

"What are you saying?"

"I said, let him keep them. Johnny doesn't need them anymore." Murdoch looked at Remy. "You can give them to the man you work for, I'm sure they'll make him very happy."

"Hey, I don't work for no one." Remy's eyes bore into Murdoch.

"I'm not sure I believe you, Remy. It seems to me you have an agenda."

The boy looked away and shifted his focus to prying Scott's fingers from his wrist. "You're hurting me." In disgust Scott released his hand, almost throwing it back at him. "It's just me, and my sister and our pa," Remy said rubbing the red marks on his wrist. "Don't work for no one. Don't have one of those ag… ag…"

"Agenda," Scott finished. "It's a plan." The wagon lurched forward catching Remy off balance and he had to grab onto the seat.

"Only plan I had was ta not go back. Pa's gonna be real mad I wasn't there last night. I'm gonna get whooped good. This ain't the first time I run off but it's the first time I missed two Friday nights. He don't much care if I'm gone as long as I'm back by Friday night ready to do my job. So, I suppose you could say I do work for Ace Gray."

"Ace Gray. Humph, that the only name you have for him?" Scott asked.

"Course it is. What other name would there be?"

"Has he been your step father for long, Son?" Murdoch asked quietly. Something had caused a distinct change in his son's attitude and he hoped to counter Scott's short temper with a gentler tone. Maybe it would pull a bit more information from the boy.

"Yeah, a long time." He looked at Scott. "Remember I told ya Ma used to help out the doc? Well, he called on her to lend a hand one night cuz someone dumped a half dead man on his doorstep. She helped take care of him and when he was on the mend, but not fit enough to be on his own, she brought him home. Next thing ya knew they was getting married and me and Reba had a new pa."

"Was she in the habit of bringing home stray men?" Scott scoffed.

"Don't talk bad about my ma. She was just about the…" Remy's voice cracked and Murdoch knew they had hit on a tender spot. All the toughness dissolved away with his unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," Scott said. "I'm sure you loved her very much." The bitterness was gone from Scott's voice but there was little in the way of sympathy.

"Damn straight. Why? Didn't you love your mother?" Remy shot back with a glare. The tough exterior had been restored in the blink of an eye.

"I'm sure I would have, if given the chance." Scott replied softly.

Murdoch released a deep sigh. Talk of Scott's mother was always a difficult subject for his elder son but today there seemed to be an ache in his voice that went beyond the usual melancholy. In silence the three continued on, united in a familiar sorrow.

As the church steeple came into view Murdoch pulled up. Scott followed suit and stopped the wagon.

"We're almost there, Remy. Care to tell us what we can expect? Is your Pa waiting for us?"

"I told ya. The only thing that's gonna happen is he'll be fumin' mad. Mad cuz it takes three to run a table, the dealer, Pa, the case keeper, Reba and me. I'm the lookout," he boasted. "I got the knack to catch a cheat."

"A cheat? It's a bit tricky for a player to cheat at faro, isn't it?" Scott asked skeptically.

"It's not as hard as you'd think unless ya got a good lookout. When a table gets busy it's easy to slide a chip over to a winning spot. It's done lots a times. Reba, she keeps the case, you know what that is right? Means she keeps track of what cards have been played, so you know when all four's been used up. Also lets you know what three cards are left over at the end for if ya want to call the turn. I don't need ta tell you what that is, do I?"

"No, Remy, that won't be necessary. But there is something I'd like to know." Murdoch paused for a moment and looked at Scott. He had the distinct impression that what he was about to ask next would not be well received. "What I want to know is, if given a choice, where would you like to end up tonight?"

"Murdoch," snapped Scott. "Do you have any idea what you're asking? He can't even answer a simple question and you're inviting him to stay? What about Johnny?"

"I know what I'm doing, Scott, and I didn't invite him to stay. I merely asked where he wanted to end up. There's a difference." His eyes moved from his son to the boy. "Remy?"

"You mean you're giving me a choice?"

"I'd like to."

"You tryin' to trick me?" Remy asked.

"No, I'm trying to get a feel for what it is you want? But I warn you, if you don't make a choice I'll march you right into the sheriff's office and he'll make the choice for you."

Remy looked from Murdoch to Scott. "Sure don't like it when Pa is mad. Would like to stay with you but think I wore out my welcome. Maybe I could stay with that pretty Miss Willie. She sure could use my help and that way I'd be far away from Johnny and you, Scott. That is if that's what you're offerin'."

"Murdoch! This has gone far enough. He's not staying with Willie and I don't want him on the ranch. None of this is a good idea. We should simply turn him over to Val and let him figure out what to do with him."

"You can't make me stick, ya know. If I decide ta move on that's exactly what I'm gonna do so you should stop talking and just leave me off right here."

Scott looked at him with a puzzled expression. "What about your sister, Remy? Just a little while ago you were saying you'd miss her. Now you're ready to go anywhere. Aren't you afraid your pa will hurt her?"

"Hurt her? Why would Pa hurt her? He loves her. Course he loves me too just not in the same way."

"What do you mean by that, Remy?" Murdoch asked.

"He never hits Reba, she's older, almost eighteen and… well, she looks just like our ma, even shares the same name. So I guess… I guess… he looks at her the same, expects the same kinds a things. When we was younger Reba, she used ta talk to me about him, but not no more. Now she just goes along like she likes it. Maybe she does. I don't know anymore."

Murdoch felt his throat tighten and looked at Scott. He did not like what he was hearing. But he was a little stunned by the boy's lack of concern. "There are many ways to hurt someone, Remy."

"She sure don't act like she's hurtin'. I love her and all but I sure don't understand her."

Looking at the boy, Murdoch was reminded of a similar conversation he'd had once with Johnny. The words weren't the same but the sentiment was there. That situation, with Lucy, had not ended well and Murdoch couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps this would have an equally devastating outcome. He pulled himself from his dark thoughts. "When we get into town, I'll go talk to Val. Find out what our options are, see if there is anything we can do to help. It will be good to talk to someone who is not so close to this mess. Scott, you'll stay with the boy? Keep him out of sight?"

"That's the only good idea I've heard today, Murdoch. We'll head to the mercantile and meet up with you in one hour."

~*~*~*~

Murdoch opened the door to Val's office. "Val, there is a matter we need…" He stopped short, surprised to see two other men besides the uncharacteristically neat and tidy sheriff. Val sat on the corner of his desk head bent low, clutching something in his hand. He wore what looked to be a new shirt and, if not mistaken, a professional hair cut. There was a well dressed man seated in the chair next to the desk, his back to Murdoch. And another man stood leaning against the cell's bars listening dutifully. He held his hand to his chin, fingers idly twisting the longer hairs of his goatee. This man was the only one to look toward the door as it opened and he nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize," Murdoch said softly and began to back out the door.

"Just need a minute here, Mr. Lancer," Val offered with a raised hand. "You just stay put."

The seated man's graying head came up and he turned awkwardly in his chair revealing an elegant cane with gleaming silver knob and ferrule. "Perhaps he knows where my boy is, Sheriff." His voice was smooth and strong. The kind of voice that made a person take notice, made you want to see who was speaking. But it was the eyes that gave Murdoch pause. His mouth went dry and if called upon to speak he would have been unable to answer.

With a nod Val slid off the desktop, placing a comforting hand on the seated man's shoulder. "He's lookin' for his son, Murdoch, seems he's run off and Mr. Gray here is a might upset."

Sweat seeped through the skin of his palms leaving behind a cool clamminess. Murdoch crossed his arms in an attempt to wipe it away unnoticed. Mr. Gray leaned heavily on his cane and rose to his feet. "Yes, I'm afraid he's growing up and I regret there are times we don't see eye to eye. If you are lucky enough to have a son, Mr. Lancer, I'm sure you remember what he was like at sixteen." Words were still illusive as Murdoch watched the dark eyes narrow with a glint of humor. Mr. Gray continued, "Well, no matter." His attention turned to the man leaning against the cell. "I'm ashamed to say I hit him and he ran off. It's not like me to hit a child. I don't ascribe to the adage of spare the rod…" He sighed deeply and leaned again on his cane. "Poor Remy isn't ready to be on his own. I'm afraid he'll come to some harm. And his poor sister is beside herself with grief. They've already lost their mother. I don't think the poor girl could take it if any harm befell her brother."

"You're gonna start catchin flies if'n ya don't shut that trap a yours, Mr. Lancer. Ya seen this here boy?" Val walked toward Murdoch, who still had not found the ability to utter a word, and passed him what he held, a photograph.

There were four people pictured on the cabinet card. The boy was most definitely Remy though a few years younger. The two females in the photograph were undoubtedly his mother and sister. Both were stunningly beautiful and shared an uncanny resemblance. It could be argued the child was even more beautiful than her mother. And not all of this beauty was due to her tender age. Rounding out the picture was Grayson. He was the only one seated and looked oddly happy, a smile frozen on his face. It was not the custom to see smiling faces looking back from a photograph and it gave Murdoch an uncomfortable feeling.

"Mr. Lancer? I asked if ya seen the boy."

Murdoch cleared his throat and lifted his eyes. He shook his head. "Afraid not, Val. Has he been gone long?" He passed the photograph back to the sheriff.

"Too long I'm afraid," Mr. Gray replied. "It's not the first time he's run off. He gets hot headed and leaves but once he cools down he always comes back, usually in a day or two. I didn't start growing concerned until yesterday with that terrible rain. I figured that would have sent him in our direction."

"Does he know where your direction is, Mr. Gray?"

"Of course he does, Mr. Lancer. What kind of father do you take me for? He knows we'll be in Green River for a least two more weeks, then we're scheduled in Modesto."

"Scheduled, Mr. Gray?"

"Yes, at the present time we are at the Painted Lady Saloon next, the Sparks Saloon in Modesto. Faro, Mr. Lancer. Care to try your luck?"

"No, I'm afraid it's not my game."

"Pity."

"We ain't here ta talk about your business, Mr. Gray. Now if ya don't mind I'll hang on ta this here picture and take a ride over to Spanish Wells and Morro Coyo. Maybe someone there's spotted him." Val slipped the photograph into his shirt pocket and gave it a pat. "Ya know, you two just may have somethin' in common. Murdoch here, he knows the pain of a lost boy."

"You don't say, Sheriff, we'll have to talk, Mr. Lancer, perhaps you would be so kind as to meet me for a drink?"

"Some other time, Mr. Gray."

"Suit yourself." He turned to Val. "I want to thank you for your efforts, Sheriff. You've been most kind and I appreciate whatever you can do." He reached out and shook Val's hand. "Now if you don't mind I must get back to Rebecca." He turned back to Murdoch. "My daughter," he explained with a wink. "She is most distressed about her brother. Please, if you spot him on your travels send him home to us. You see, I lost track of another son at just about the same age." He sighed. "What I wouldn't give to see him again. Good day." He moved with a noticeable limp out the door. The room echoed with the rattle of the door as it closed behind him.

"So, why was it you wanted ta see me, Murdoch?" Val asked. "If it's about Johnny, I got wind a that. Heard a few of the boys mutterin' somethin' about a tree? Ain't that boy got any sense at all? Ya don't go around messin' with things like that."

"Apparently not, Val, you'd think he'd be more careful." Murdoch looked from Val to the man standing by the cell then toward the window. "Uhm," he uttered distractedly. "It's nothing really, Val. Thought, you might want to come out and see Johnny. You know how he gets when he's laid up."

Ace Gray paused in front of the large window and appeared to be looking at his reflection. He smoothed his hair and ran a finger over his thin mustache then smiled the same frozen smile as in the picture. Johnny's words from this morning echoed in Murdoch's mind 'The only way I'll win is when I see that man dead and even then I bet he'll be smilin'. A barely audible chuckle escaped Murdoch's lips and he forced himself to look away. "If you'll excuse me, there is something I meant to ask that man."

Stepping out the door hastily, Murdoch neglected to shut it behind him. "Mr. Gray. Mr. Gray, I'd like a word."

Leaning on his cane he turned slowly around to face Murdoch. "I'm sure you would," he replied confidently. The two men looked at each other for a measure without saying a word. "It is heartening you at least know who I am."

"I know." Murdoch nodded.

"Yet you stand there and say nothing. If you've got something to say, say it. I'm a busy man."

Murdoch's eyes traveled up and down the man before him. "I see nothing, no redeeming qualities. What was it she saw in you?"

"Let me assure you there were no illusions on my part. She was a far more beautiful woman than even I was accustomed to. But you see, her father was not a very good gambler and as a result owed me a rather sizable sum. A sum he was unable to pay." The smile flickered across his face then was gone. "So, being a generous man, I made him an offer. I would reduce his debt to a mere fifty percent and all I asked for in return was the hand of his beloved Maria. He was more than happy to accommodate my request. My only regret is she never loved me, but she possessed a certain zeal few women shared. Wouldn't you agree?" He leaned more heavily on his cane so to move a little closer to Murdoch. He lowered his voice to a whisper. Murdoch found himself drawn to what he would say next and also leaned in. "There was never another who had that special touch. Never another who made me feel quite the same. Not even the boy's mother, my beloved Rebecca. I confess, however, that his sister comes very close." He straightened keeping his voice hushed. "I am a gambling man, Mr. Lancer, and I would wager that my whore of a wife spoiled you for all others. Pity she wasn't yours to hold on to."

Murdoch stood there looking at this self-important man feeling only a burning hatred but he was determined to maintain control. The mere thought of this vile excuse of a man lying with his Maria sickened him. He drew a long steadying breath and allowed a hint of a smile to curl his lip. Feeling confident and in control he asked one of the many questions that had crossed his churning mind. "I was under the impression you were a very clever man yet your lack of imagination in selecting an alias is… I would say, disappointing. Horace Grayson to Ace Gray, surely you could have done better."

Mr. Gray sighed and cast his eyes toward the sky, an expression Murdoch had seen Johnny do many times. "Ah, Mr. Lancer, why does it not surprise me that you don't see the ingenious simplicity of it." His voice sounded weary as he spoke. "With the mere stroke of a pen I managed to rid myself of both the w'hor'e and her bastard son."

The sensation of his large fist connecting with Grayson's fragile jaw was quite possibly the most rewarding experience of Murdoch Lancer's life. That and watching as his disgusting smile hit the boardwalk. Everything moved in a delightfully slow motion and he savored every second as Grayson hit the ground like a stone.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Val watched Murdoch step out the door and lost sight of him only briefly. He reappeared in the large office window and stopped. The faro dealer turned to face him and they began their conversation. Without taking his eyes off them he backed into his chair sinking into it with a groan. This was turning into a very long day

"You know that man well, do you?" The visitor stood at the stove, poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip.

"Hell, I know all the people in this town. It's my job."

"Yes, though I imagine you know some better than others. Like some better than others. It can't be helped." He peered into his coffee cup, tipping it from side to side then set it on the corner of the sheriff's desk.

"Ain't about to lie to you. Course I do. But it don't stop me from doin' my job." The sheriff leaned back in his chair and it creaked in protest with his shift of weight. Unwaveringly he watched the two men outside. Even with the door open he couldn't hear one word of what was being said which was odd considering Lancer's booming voice. They stood close, talked quiet-like almost as if they knew each other. Murdoch's swift movement caught Val by complete surprise. "What in blue blazes?" He jumped from his chair and reflexively grabbed his hat hanging from the hook by the door as he hurried outside. The stranger followed on his heels.

Ace Gray laid prone on the boardwalk. Murdoch stood towering over him rubbing his knuckles, the remains of a self-satisfied smile quickly fading upon seeing the two men. "Why in tarnation did ya go and do that for?" Val bellowed, swatting his thigh with his hat.

Before Murdoch had a chance to speak shouts from across the street drew the sheriff's attention. "Let go! Let go of me!" Val ran his forearm across his eyes and jammed his hat on his head. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Scott stood in the alleyway beside the mercantile. He was hanging on to a struggling boy, the boy from the picture, the boy Murdoch Lancer had just said he hadn't seen. "Pa! Let me see my Pa. You're hurting me, let go! Pa! Pa!" With a fierce determination he twisted in the grasp of his captor before kicking him squarely on the shin. The move got him what he wanted, freedom, as Scott released his grip. The boy tore off across the street sliding across the boardwalk on his knees stopping beside his unconscious father. Tears pooled in his eyes when he looked at Murdoch. "What did you do to him, Mr. Lancer? Why did you hurt my pa?"

Val knelt beside the injured man who was just coming around. "Take it easy there, Mr. Gray. Don't move too fast." He looked around at the gathering crowd. "Someone want to get word to Sam?" He then looked up at Murdoch. "What got into you? Now get outta here, I'll be out later to…"

The stranger cleared his throat and Val stopped mid sentence to look at him. "That, Sheriff Crawford, just isn't prudent. This so called friend of yours carried out a blatant disregard for your authority right in front of you and your office. No, it is for this exact reason that I am making this journey and why the office of the Attorney General was created."

"Reckon I don't need to arrest him unless this here gentleman decides to press charges. Now, ain't that right?" Val rose from his crouched position and threw his hands in the air.

"Sending the guilty party on his way before the victim has barely regained consciousness is hardly ethical, Sheriff Crawford."

Val looked from Murdoch to Scott then to the man on the ground. Mr. Gray had made it to a sitting position and gingerly pressed the side of his face. The boy stayed close by his father's side protectively wrapping his arm around his pa's shoulder. He gave both Murdoch and Scott an icy stare, the remains of tears still staining his cheeks. Both fathers and sons talked quietly amongst themselves and gradually the ones on the boardwalk collected themselves and started to get up. The youngest one helped the older one to his feet and passed him his cane.

Ace Gray swayed slightly, even with the benefit of his cane, then steadied. "Sheriff, I actually want both these men arrested."

"Both?" Val barked in disbelief. "Now hold it right there, Mr. Gray, you have no right…"

The man with the goatee stood between them and looked directly at Val. "Shouldn't this discussion be moved into the privacy of your office? This is not the business of the entire town."

"It may not be their business but you can be damn sure they'll all be jaberin' about it, Mr. Love." Val dropped his head with a sigh. "Gentlemen." He made a gesture with the sweep of his arm and followed them into his office.

Once the door closed securely all five men and the one boy looked at each other uneasily. "You sit, Pa. I'll get ya some water." He guided the wobbly man to the bench under the window and turned to Val. "You got water, don't ya."

"Ya I got water." He walked to the pitcher that sat on the small desk near the wall and poured a glass. His heels scuffed the floor as he sauntered back across the room handing it to Grayson. "Fresh pumped would be colder," Remy said.

"Now, just a gosh darn minute. I ain't his mama."

"Sheriff," Mr. Love warned. "Just get some fresh water." He then took two steps toward the injured man and extended his hand. "My name is John Lord Love, Mr. Gray, and I am the Attorney General of this fine state. You are in luck. Being a stranger in these parts you most likely would not have been treated fairly by the local sheriff, which is exactly why I am here."

Val had only taken a few steps toward the door and spun around quickly. Insulted, he slammed the pitcher down on the desk. "I do a good job."

"You were ready to send this man home!" Mr. Love waved an agitated arm toward Murdoch. "How is that a good job? It is my goal to ensure justice is handed down fairly. As I said before, that is why my office was created. For far too long an inconsistent law enforcement system has been the status quo. No longer will the big dog dictate the laws of the land. And you, Mr. Lancer, are a very big dog."

"You done with your little speech? Cuz all I know is if Murdoch Lancer hit this man he had a dern good reason. That's all I'm sayin'."

"Yes, well that is a prime example of what I'm saying. You side with him because he's your friend and, if I'm not mistaken, the head of the Cattleman's Association here. In a sense, he pays your salary, does he not?"

"That may be but I side with him because I know the kind of man he is."

"Therefore you assume this visitor is not of the same moral fiber? Come now, Sheriff, even you, must see the injustice in that. And that was an unprovoked attack."

Grayson attempted a smile then grimaced. He carefully pressed his water glass to his reddening jaw line. "Perhaps lady luck has actually shown on me today, Mr. Love. Not only did I get my son back, but your presence here should prove most helpful, because, in addition to attacking me these men also attempted to keep my son from me. I believe under the eyes of the law that would be considered kidnapping. Is it not?"

"What? Why you little liar," Scott shouted angrily. Murdoch placed his large hand on Scott's arm and settled his agitation with a scowl and a shake of his head. "But, Sir, this is ludicrous. You know as well as I do, he wanted to stay."

"Now wait just a God damn minute, here," Val barked.

"He has the marks to prove it," offered Grayson. "Look at his wrist, and he told me of other bruises. And a burn, here." Grayson rolled up Remy's sleeve exposing a nasty burn on his forearm. "Left unattended."

Mr. Love looked at the boy's injuries. "It appears to me, Sheriff, you have more than enough evidence against these two men." He then walked up to Murdoch and looked him in the eye. John Love carried an impressive height and was very nearly as tall as Murdoch. "Do you feel proud, Sir? You stood here, on this very spot and denied having seen this boy. Do you remember that?"

Murdoch remained silent.

"You." John turned to Scott. "Who are you?"

"Scott Lancer, Sir."

"You're his son?"

"Yes, he's his son," Val huffed. "And there ain't no way in hell they were kidnappin' this boy. They got no reason, none at all. It don't make no sense."

"Then care to tell me why the boy had to kick and scream to escape the grip of this man?" John pointed to Scott. "Even you can't deny what we both saw."

Val knew he'd been beat. There was nothing left for him to do, least not right now. There had to be a reason for what Murdoch did, but he'd be damned if he was going to discuss things right here, right now. Not in front of the Attorney General. No, there had to be more to this Mr. Gray then met the eye. Too bad too, he kind a liked the man. "Murdoch, Scott, I'm sorry but I need ya to git in a cell." He pulled the keys from his top desk drawer and moved toward the door tugging it open. With a nod of his head both Lancers did as was expected. Val closed and locked the door behind them.

Scott threw his arms in the air. "I can't believe this. Val you've got to do something."

"Get word to Johnny?" Murdoch grabbed hold of the bars and his eyes spoke with urgency. "You have no idea how worried he'll be if we don't come back. He might try to get into town and that wouldn't be good for him. Val, make sure he stays put. He doesn't need to be here, not now, not yet."

Val nodded. He knew Johnny would be worried but the look in Murdoch's eyes spoke of concern beyond what was normal. "Don't worry, Murdoch, I'll go. I'll do what I can."

"Johnny will fill you in, Val. There's more here than meets the eye. Make him explain."

The lawman spun on his heel. "Happy now?" He glowered at John Lord Love.

"It is not a matter of my being happy, Sheriff. It is a matter of following the same law for everyone. If the tables were turned and Mr. Lancer accused Mr. Gray of the same crime how would you have handled it?"

Throwing the keys, they landed on the top of his desk then skittered across the table top and hit the floor. "That would be different. Mr. Gray doesn't live here. In a heartbeat he kin be on his way. These men, they're here to stay. It ain't the same thing at all."

~*~*~*~

Slow, that is how he'd approach the Lancer Ranch. Slow and steady. There was no doubt what a lone rider would do to Johnny. His first instinct would be trouble and that is exactly what he had, a heap of it. Shit, he had a whole mountain a trouble and once Johnny got a hold of it, well, he didn't even want to think about it. Just knock and smile, that's it. Hell, he was actually the bearer of good news. At least no one was bleedin'. "Good news my ass." Val muttered to himself. "Not by a long shot."

The ranch looked quiet. Most of the hands were out working on clearing those blasted trees. It was not like Johnny to be careless and Val couldn't understand how he'd managed to get himself hurt. Sure wasn't like him to not pay attention. No, there had to be a lot more going on here and it couldn't be good. Maybe he should have picked up on Murdoch's manner. Come to think of it, he wasn't exactly being himself. Never seen the man tongue tied before. Damn, he should a taken notice and he would a if not for that Attorney General. What the hell kind a title is that anyway? Attorney general, no wonder he was wound tighter than an old watch.

Through the arch and closer to the house he reined his horse to a walk. His plan was to arrive unnoticed so as not to cause any undue alarm. He watched the curtain to Johnny's room for movement, there was none. A good sign he'd been successful. This wasn't a matter of life and death after all, only a misunderstanding. It should be easily cleared up. Hell, it would have already if not for that damn Attorney General buttin' his nose in where it don't belong. Why couldn't he have been scheduled last month? Not a damn thing happened then 'cept the usual drunks and fist fights.

Approaching the large carved door, he took the time to remove his hat and smooth his hair. Val felt nervous, like he was callin' on Miss Prindle. He shook it off, pounded the door with his fist and waited, and waited. He was all set to give it one more solid whack when it finally opened. Teresa stood in doorway looking puzzled.

"Sheriff Crawford, I didn't hear you ride up."

"S'cuze me, Miss Teresa, but if ya don't mind I need to talk to Johnny."

"Oh, Val, I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you but he's sleeping. Sam said it was best and not to disturb him."

"I'm right here, Val," Johnny said from the top step. He stood leaning heavily on the rail, pants pulled on, conchos unbuttoned, chest bare. "Are they…"

"There was no blood spilled if that's what you're askin."

Johnny sagged against the wall. With his hat in his hand Val dipped his head, rushed passed Teresa and up the stairs. "We best get you sittin', Johnny. We have some talkin' ta do."

"Johnny?" Teresa called up, worry creasing her brow as she closed the door behind her. "Is everything all right?"

Val looked down at Teresa. She stood at the bottom of the stairs wringing out her apron, concern darkening her eyes. "No need to worry yourself, Miss Teresa, both Scott and Murdoch are safe in Green River. They asked me to come out here and put your mind at ease."

"I'll fill ya in later, Teresa," Johnny drawled.

"If you think that's best, Johnny."

"I do." Leaning on Val they turned to make their way back down the corridor and into Johnny's room. "Teresa," Johnny called out. "I need you to do one thing for me."

"Anything, Johnny."

"Find Murdoch's old cane. I get the feelin' I'm gonna need it."

"But, Johnny, Sam said…"

"Teresa, please."

"I'll find it Johnny."

Val watched Johnny fall into the chair by the window with a sharp groan. He looked about the room, grabbed the pitcher of water and filled a glass. "Here," he snipped shoving it into Johnny's hand.

Johnny looked from him to the glass. "What I really need is something stronger, Val."

"You're damn straight, Johnny-boy. But, you need your wits about ya on this one I'm afraid. And your temper under control. Think ya kin do that for me?"

"Ain't makin' no promises, Val, about my temper that is, now spill it. What the hell happened? Knew Murdoch shouldn't a gone to town, not with that bastard there, but there was no stopping him." He held up his hand and peered up at Val. "You're sure they're all right?"

Pacing back and forth Val stopped. "Neither one has a scratch on em, Johnny. Wish I could say the same for that gambler though and the kid."

Johnny brought his head back to rest on the chair and breathed out. "Why, Val? What happened?"

"Well, Johnny, you're not going to like this but, Scott and Murdoch, they're both been arrested."

"Arrested? What the hell for, Val?"

"Now, see I told ya ya weren't gonna like it. Murdoch, well, he's in jail for assault, punched that gambler fella hard in the jaw for no reason.

"Val, you know there was a reason."

"Ya, I know that but got no proof and my visitor was havin' no part of me sendin' him on his way. He sure made himself look guilty especially with the kidnapping charge. Shit, if I didn't know the man 'I'd be thinkin' the same as that Attorney General fella."

"Wait a minute, kidnapping?" Realization descended over Johnny's face. "Remy?"

"Shit, Johnny, even you know the boy? This ain't good. What the hell's goin' on here? Murdoch stood in my office, said he never seen him. Then after he hit Gray the kid started screamin' and Scott was hangin' on to him till the kid kicked him."

A thin smile slid across Johnny's face. "He really hit him?"

Val laughed. "The man went down hard. Knocked out cold for a spell. I tried to send Murdoch home, but that didn't work. Shit, Johnny, is this some kind of set-up? It was a little too convenient for that Attorney General to be here watching the whole thing."

"I'm sure it was all planned, Val. You obviously knew the man was coming, I mean look at ya." Johnny's hand travelled up and down through the air. "Can't say I've ever seen you so shined up."

"I knew he was comin' alright. Been in the papers, he's makin' a big deal about treatin' everyone fair. No railroadin'. If a person was of a mind he could a made a schedule around it." Val sank to the bed and ran a hand down his face. "Who are we talkin' about Johnny? Who is this man and what does he want?"

"Wish I could tell ya what he wants, Val. But I sure know who he is, and if he wants anything it ain't good." Johnny pushed from the chair. "I'm goin' to town. You can help me or not, that's your business, but I need ta find out what happened."

"I'll tell ya if ya just calm down. Murdoch told me to keep you here and that you'd fill me in. Now start fillin' cuz right now, I gotta tell ya, it ain't lookin' good."

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

~*~*~Chapter 16~*~*~

Anger shot from Johnny's eyes as he snatched his gun belt from the bedpost. "Val, ain't nothin' I can tell ya that will make things look better."

He hobbled to his dresser trying to hide his pain but doing a piss poor job of it. Yanking open his top draw he reached in for a box of bullets. "The more you find out the more guilty Murdoch's gonna look. Scott, on the other hand, has no business being in jail and it's your job to make sure he don't stay there."

"Damn it, Johnny!" With an exaggerated motion Val threw his hat down. It landed on the edge of Johnny's bed before teetering to the floor. Not exactly the show he was going for but Johnny wasn't looking anyway. "I don't need ya tellin' me my job. It's bad enough I got that damned Attorney General paradin' round spoutin' regulations and the like."

Leaning heavily on the open drawer for support Johnny turned to face the sheriff. "Look, Val, I don't mean ta be tellin' you your business, but the more power we give this man Gray, as you call him, the worse things are gonna get."

The lawman stared at his friend. It didn't take much thought to figure just how bad Johnny expected things to get. "For Christ's sake, sit down 'fore ya fall down. Ya ain't in no condition ta be headin' inta town wavin' that gun around." He grabbed the unsteady man and with little effort pulled him back to the chair. "You're gonna sit here and you're gonna start talkin'."

Pain rippled the muscles of Johnny's cheek as he lifted his leg onto the bed. "Mierda," he hissed. "Sure could use a shot a whiskey, maybe two."

He tried to smile but it was the sorriest excuse for a smile Val had ever seen. "Ya just want me outta the room so you can high-tail it inta town. Well, it ain't gonna work, ya know. Hell, even if ya tried, I'd catch up with ya 'fore ya made it to the barn. Then for laughs I could lean back and watch ya try an mount up with a busted leg."

There was a quiver in Johnny's sigh. He dropped his head and fingered the empty bullet loops in his gun belt. "There ain't nothing ta laugh at here."

Val sobered quickly. "Ya, I suppose not, but I got no way a knowin' for sure if you don't tell me." He watched Johnny slide open the box of ammo and one by one slip the bullets into the empty loops.

"Consider this your lucky day then." He shot the lawman a sideways glance. "You won't have a dead body to deal with."

"Yeah, well the day ain't over." Val bent to pick up his hat and placed it on the newly vacated bedpost. "Maybe the lucky part is you're laid up. With this Love fella in town the last thing I want is you marchin' in on the shoot." He swallowed hard and sat softly on the bed so as not to jostle Johnny's leg. Leaning forward he planted his elbows on his knees, hoping to get a look at his friend's face. Johnny didn't cooperate. He appeared to be putting uncalled-for attention into filling his belt. "All I'm sayin' is don't do anything foolish, cuz there ain't no way I'm watchin' you hang." Johnny met his gaze for a split second before returning focus on his task. "Now tell me, who is this man, this Ace Gray?"

Johnny checked to make sure every loop was filled before finally sliding the box closed. He studied the cover, smoothing his hand over the top like it was a fine treasure. "That ain't his name," he said softly before carefully placing the box on the windowsill beside him. Turning in his chair he sat tall and met Val's expectant stare with one the lawman had seen many times before, the stare that to most people was icy cold, but to Val spoke loud and clear of the grief that lay just below the surface.

"And just how do you know this? You ain't even been ta town since he showed up."

"Oh, I know, Val. I know because Murdoch clipped him, I know because of that name he's using, I know because of that kid and as strange as it sounds, I know because of his God damn coffee."

"Don't sound like much ta go on if ya ask me. Still would think you'd need ta see the man."

"Haven't survived this long without relyin' on instinct, you of all people should know that. Let me make this easier for you." Johnny glared and was quiet for a moment but never broke the fix of his eyes. "He's about your height, maybe a little shorter and he walks with a limp on account that his leg got shot up real bad once. He talks smooth and ya can't help but listen, his voice just does that to a person. I bet ya even like him, Val. Hell, it would surprise me if ya didn't."

Val rose from the bed and walked to the dresser. He shoved the open drawer closed. "Sounds like Ace, but…"

"I ain't done," Johnny voice remained cool. "He looks every bit the gambler, even after all these years. I know that ain't changed, he's too damn proud of it. But the most telling thing of all is his eyes. Have you looked at his eyes, Val? They're as black as pitch and hold nothing in them, a bottomless pit, that's what they are, going straight to hell. So now, if you have no more doubts, I'd appreciate it if you'd use his real name, Grayson, Horace Grayson, and I suppose, if ya look at things legal, you've just met this bastard's," he pointed to himself with his thumb, "other father."

"Shit," Val breathed out long and slow, it was all he could muster. He was grateful for the dresser when he felt the drawer pull jab him in the back. Without its support he'd surely have hit the floor. Out of the blue, he had no idea what to do with his hands. Tried stuffing them in his pockets but these new fancy duds were too darn snug. He put his right elbow on the dresser top and looped his left thumb through a belt loop. Next he wiped his hand down the front of his shirt then rubbed at the day's stubble that was just beginning to form on his face. At some point he remembered to breathe. "That pain in your leg's made ya plumb loco, Murdoch's your father."

"Not talkin' blood, I said if ya look at things legal. Grayson was married to my mother long before she met Murdoch. Least that's the way Inez told it. You remember Inez, don't cha?"

"She's the one Scott found last year when you were, you were…"

"Yeah, that's the one," Johnny said with a weak smile.

Val nodded his head for Johnny to continue. He didn't know much about this Inez or what happened with Johnny during that time, but he did know it was bad. The family had hunkered down, protecting its own, which is as it should be, but Val wished he could have been there for his friend. What he did learn was they believed, without her, Johnny would not have come out unscathed and for that everyone was most grateful.

"Inez was Mama's only real friend and they talked to each other about all kinds a stuff. The way she tells it, Mama was relieved when word came Grayson was dead. She never wanted the man but it was her duty, somethin' arranged between him and her family. Not long after that she met Murdoch in Matamoros and they got married." He fell silent for a moment. "Murdoch called it - a whirlwind courtship. Should a been simple enough, but, as you can see he ain't dead. Hell, the man has more lives than me."

"Maybe you get that from him," Val chimed in with a half smile. The look that comment received was hardened, forcing the sheriff to drop his head. "Sorry."

"That's the rub, Val. I got a lot from him, some I'm even grateful for." Deflated, Johnny leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. "Course I wouldn't a needed any of it if the bastard had only stayed dead. Instead he saw Mama in Spanish Wells one day. Sam said she came to see him and a few days later she was gone, which fits with what Inez said." He turned his head toward the window, running his fingers along the edge of the curtain. "Poor Sam, he could never understand it, said she'd been so happy when she left his office. Bursting with the wonderful news and she…" Johnny's shoulders shuddered. He released the curtain and dropped his face into his hand. Val shifted his weight nervously waiting for his friend to speak again. He didn't.

"Are you sayin' what I think yer sayin? Your mama was… Dios, Johnny, you don't have a hermano or hermana scurrying around I don't know about do ya?"

"No, no, Val, only Scott." A small smile turned the corners of his mouth at the mention of his brother then vanished. "Grayson took care of that. One reminder of Murdoch was more than enough."

Val was almost afraid to ask the next question but it was a question that needed asking. "Does Murdoch know?"

"He doesn't and it's gonna stay that way, I'll see to that." The anger seeped back into Johnny's words as he spoke. "There's no good in that gettn' out. But if Grayson gets ta talkin' it's just the kind of thing that he'd let slip with a smile."

"Think that could be why your old man decked him?"

"Could be. That's why I need to talk to him, find out what happened." Johnny started to push off the chair. "Why hasn't Teresa brought me that God damn cane?"

"You just keep your ass right where it is, ya hear?" Val said putting a strong hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'll check on Teresa, and, don't know 'bout you, but I sure could use a drink. What cha say? You sit tight and I'll be right back?"

"Yeah, Val. Best offer I had all day."

Slipping through the partially open door Val leaned against the wall for a moment letting what he'd just heard sink in. Fingers ran through what had been neatly combed hair, forgetting about the bear grease Zeke used to hold it in place. He looked at his hand and wiped it down the front of his new shirt, leaving a fresh stain. That was the least of his troubles.

He made his way down the stairs, across the great room and straight for the liquor. Pouring a sizable measure, he swallowed it in one gulp then poured a second. "Shit," he muttered to himself before knocking back the next one. "Ain't nothin' good 'bout any a this."

"You say something, Val?" Teresa asked as she approached the table behind the couch with a bowl of fruit. She set it down and moved closer to the sheriff.

"Sorry, Miss Teresa, didn't realize you was there."

She waved a hand in front of her face. "Say no more, it's forgotten." Their eyes met and she seemed to be studying him. "This is about that awful man Grayson isn't it?"

"Yes, Ma'am, it is. You know somethin' 'bout him and his boy?"

"The only thing I know about Grayson is what Inez told us one night. He's a horrible man, one I hope to never meet. Made her watch as his friend, Socorro, I think it was, killed her brother." She looked away for a moment running her hands up and down her arms as if chilled. "It was a very sad story. He did it to get to Johnny, to find Johnny." She stopped and shook her head. "I wish he never did, maybe he would have come back to us sooner."

"And the boy? Remington, I believe. Whacha know 'bout him?"

"Remy? Oh he's nothing but sweet and polite, though a little clumsy perhaps. You should have seen the kitchen that first morning. Was that only yesterday?" Her eyes brightened at the memory and she scrunched up her face in disbelief. "Seeing Murdoch enjoy the breakfast he prepared for us was worth the mess. And the coffee, I don't usually drink it but that morning I had two cups."

"Ya don't say. Ain't never heard a no kidnap victim cookin' breakfast and makin' coffee."

"Kidnap victim? My goodness, Val, no," giggled Teresa. "Now that's funny. Where on earth did you get an idea…?" She stopped and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes grew wide. "You're not joking."

"No, Ma'am, I ain't."

"Is it that why you're on edge?"

"Yes, Ma'am, that's one a the things. Don't mean ta worry you none but, the way I see it, we've got a powder keg here and more than one man's holdin' a match." Val stood tall before speaking again, hoping to reassure the young lady. "And it's my job to keep that fuse from gettin' lit."

"You're just the man who can do it, Val," she said turning her back to him and walking toward the grandfather clock against the far wall. Sliding her hand behind it she asked, "And just what will this do?" Her hand emerged holding Murdoch's cane. "Fan the flame?"

"Most likely." Val nodded.

Teresa held it out to the lawman. "I wish there was something else I could do, Val. You'll tell me if there is, right?"

Val smiled and put out his hand pushing the cane back in Teresa's direction. "As a matter a fact there is something you can do. You can keep 'looking' for that cane. That sit right with you, Miss Teresa?"

A broad smile spread across her young features. "Yes, Sheriff, that sits just right with me," she said as she returned the cane to its resting place behind the clock.

"He cain't go far without it and until I know what I'm dealin' with that's just the way I want it ta stay."

"Thank you, Val."

"Don't mention it." He paused then looked at Teresa through squinted eyes. "I mean that, ya know. Don't mention it," he said more forcefully.

The young woman laughed, and for an instant everything seemed okay.

"You're sure Murdoch and Scott are safe?"

"Don't be worryin' your pretty head none about them. They're in the safest place they can be. No one kin hurt them and they cain't hurt no one. You trust me, don't ya?"

"Of course I do, Val. You're like family."

"That's mighty nice to hear, Miss Teresa, and I thank ya. Now I best be getting' upstairs before that one starts hollerin'." He grabbed the bottle and two glasses. Lifting them he smiled sheepishly. "We got a heap a talkin' to do. Maybe you could bring us some supper in a bit, thinkin' we might need it to soak up some a this juice."

"I can manage that," she said with a worried smile.

He stopped on the bottom step and spun slightly to face her. "Told ya not to worry, didn't I?"

Teresa bit her lower lip and nodded.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

~*~Chapter 17~*~

Relief forced a sharp exhale from Johnny's lips the moment Val left the room. Part of him was glad his friend was here. At the very least he'd learned Scott and Murdoch were in one piece. But there was another part, the part that needed to do this alone. Unfortunately the throb in his leg keeping perfect time with the heavy thud of his heart was a constant reminder that he couldn't do this without help. Sadly, the help he wanted would, most likely, not come from Val.

He pressed back into the chair and closed his eyes. Dios he was so tired, tired of the pain, tired of his past. Why couldn't it just stay buried? Why couldn't Grayson just stay buried? Hell, for as long as he could remember the man's been around, just another nameless face, only one he saw more often than most. He always managed to find them, made no difference where they came up for air. He'd spend time with Mama then be on his way. It usually ended with her getting the kind a presents no woman wanted - black eyes or cracked ribs. Of course, he wasn't the only one to do those kinds of things. They were a woman and a boy alone. Surviving any way they could. So, all types of men would show up at any hour of the day or night, each with their own version of fun. Mama's only rule for him – Run. Run as far and as fast as you can. Said me bein' around would only make things worse. Mierda, she was right.

Each time they would move on, driven by the need to find someplace safe. Eventually they met up with Socorro and as much as Johnny hated the man he was good for his mama. He never hit her and would always step in when another man got rough. Course they had no way a knowing Socorro was bought and paid for by Grayson himself. Seems the gambler grew tired of tracking his possessions and as long as Mama felt safe, Mama stayed put. And with Socorro she felt safe. The fact that Johnny didn't, well, he kept that to himself. Looking back, it probably would have been better if he'd told her, maybe things would a ended up different. Only thing was, different didn't necessarily mean better.

He ran a hand down his face then shifted his weight in the chair to look toward the door. "Damn, what's keepin' Val? Sure could use that drink."

Squeezing his eyes shut once more, he drew a deep breath willing away the flood of memories. But the images were there, waiting, just like he had all those years ago, a boy in an adobe shack waiting for Inez. She'd been gone for weeks and promised to be back before Christmas. Each night, the distant mission bells rang out. They told of the nearness of Christmas. Each night, it was getting harder and harder to hold onto hope. There were so many things that could go wrong on the trail, especially for a woman and her half-wit brother. A brother she could no longer control. Always thought it was because of the move, Tocón liked things the same, didn't take well to change. At least that's the way Inez told it. Course now he knew the true. Now he knew it had been Tocón that killed his mama, not Socorro and not Johnny himself and that must a been eating him up inside. Fits of rage would burst like gunfire from Tocón's childlike mind or he'd simply roam off. It broke Inez's heart to tie him up like a dog, that was what she'd saved him from when they were younger and now she was guilty of the same thing. She'd heard about a place, a new place, an asylum in Austin and that's where they had headed.

For years he'd hated Inez, certain she had betrayed him. Last year, during that hard time, a time he had never wanted to revisit, he learned different. The knowledge changed how he saw Inez. It changed her from enemy to victim to friend.

Now when he dreams they almost make it. They stand before an immense stone building, her hand resting on the latch of its large wooden door. With a softening smile she pushes it open. But, instead of opening, the door dissolves leaving only Grayson and Socorro in its stead. Trapped and unable to move, to help, Johnny watches the events unfold. Grayson smiles his sickening sweet smile as he reveals the glint of a blade. Yanking the woman's long braid he presses the glistening tip to her throat. He purrs, "I'll kill you and spare your brother, he can wander the desert being too witless to find his way out and if he does… well no matter, he's half crazy already, wouldn't take much to leave him a babbling fool."

Tears steam down Inez's cheeks. "You can't do that to him, that is a worse fate than death, please," she pleads.

With a sigh Grayson feigns regret. "My request is a simple one, only one small thing. Just tell me where to find the boy."

"I can't, Maria would have done anything to keep him from you, anything." She turns her head and spits in his face. His smile remains.

The blade flashes bright and draws Johnny's attention. "You care more for that half breed than you do your own brother? Tsk tsk," he clicks. "What kind of woman are you? All I want is a piece of the woman I love. Where is the harm in that?" The voice pleads but it's different somehow, it's tinged with longing for a lost boy. Johnny's eyes travel from the blade to the man's face and now it is Murdoch standing there drawing first blood.

Tocón's loud guttural bellow fills the air as he flails against the chains that bind his arms and legs. Choking on tears, Inez can hold back no more. She reveals her secret. Struggling she rises to her feet, straining to get to her brother but Murdoch stops her, twisting her face to watch as Scott slices Tocón's throat.

Johnny's head snapped up. How long had he been asleep? Seconds? Minutes? Rubbing his eyes he urgently tried to clear his jumbled mind, separate nightmare from reality. Regrettably, today, they were one and the same. Grayson.

Tongue gliding across parched lips he reached for the water pitcher and poured a glass. Pressing it to his mouth he drank thirstily but it did nothing to satisfy his need, the need to numb the never ending pain. Dios! Where's Val and that blasted whiskey?

Remembering the bottle of tequila in his bottom drawer he lifted himself from the chair. He'd promised Val he wouldn't go anywhere and he wouldn't but, he damn sure needed a drink. And he needed it now. His bottom drawer tended to stick so he bent low, put both hands on the pulls and yanked. The sudden movement of the drawer caught him by surprise, throwing him off balance. With only one good leg it was impossible to stop the unstoppable. He landed firmly on his ass. The drawer followed an unavoidable path, coming to rest painfully on his leg. The crash and accompanying yowl propelled Val through the door.

"What the devil do you think you're doing?" he grumbled before tossing the bottle and glasses onto the bed. They clanged together noisily. Moving swiftly Val lifted the drawer from Johnny's leg just as Johnny grabbed for the bottle tucked in the corner. In the instant it takes a heart to beat it was uncorked and he drew several long pulls before the taste registered on his tongue. Pulling the bottle from his lips he stared at it in disbelief.

"What kinda stupid stunt was that?" the lawman groused.

Val's words barely got through as he took another sip just to be sure. Shit, there it was, mixed with the tequila. Laudanum!

Val took hold of an arm and, none too gently, pulled the younger man to his feet. "Can't I leave ya for a minute?" He raised his free hand. "Don't answer that. Obviously I can't. Now would ya mind tellin' me what was so all fired important that ya couldn't wait for me?" He helped Johnny to the bed, moved the bottle and glasses he'd brought from downstairs to the bedside table and positioned a few pillows under the injured leg. "Ya gotta stay off that," he toned. "You ain't doing nobody any good, 'specially yourself. When the hell are you gonna learn?"

He fell silent for a moment and looked at his friend. Johnny gripped the bottle tightly and never took his eyes off its label. "By the look a things I didn't need to go get this." He pointed to the bottle on the bed. "Seems ya took care a things yourself. Is that what you needed so bad? A drink?" He continued looking at Johnny who continued to look at the bottle.

"What the hell's wrong with you? Your leg hurtin? What can I do?"

"Ya can shut up, Val. You're talkin' more than Jelly," Johnny hissed through clenched teeth.

"Now there ain't no cause for insults, I'm only tryin' to help."

Finally pulling his eyes away from the bottle Johnny looked at his friend. "I know, Val. I know. And I'm sorry." He breathed out a long slow breath and felt his teeth unclench and his shoulders relax. The pain in his leg grew more and more distant. It still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch but at least it wasn't screamin' at him anymore. He jammed the cork back in the bottle unsure of what to do next. At least he knew why Remy was at Lancer. A laugh bubbled up and he shook his head. "Damn, I underestimated that kid."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?

"Remy, Val, just Remy. He was here."

"Well I darn well know that, that's why Scott's in jail. And now I hear he's makin' breakfast and the best darn coffee any of you ever had… which, by the way, this Grayson fella's got the damn saloon makin'. And it ain't all that special if ya was to ask me. I'll drink my own any day."

"Gotta agree with ya there, Val," Johnny drawled lazily.

"What else has the kid been up to?"

Johnny closed his eyes. Finding pleasure in his diminishing pain and wondering why he'd fought so hard against something that made him feel so God damn good.

"I asked ya, what else has the kid been up to?"

"I heard ya, Val. "Just cookin' and… he took my beads."

"Not them ones you always used ta wear?"

Johnny nodded.

"Where the hell did he find those?"

"Murdoch's room."

"Anything else I should know about?"

Johnny heaved a heavy sigh before uncorking the bottle once more and drinking a good long time. When he stopped he returned the cork and passed the bottle to Val. "Since it's already too late I might as well get some sleep," he said before melting into the pillows against the headboard.

Val moved closer, concern for his friend registering on his face. "Johnny?" he asked as he reached for the bottle. "What the hell's in this thing?"

"Laudanum, Val, the kid laced it with laudanum."

The look in Johnny's eyes said more than any words could and Val crumpled to the bed.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Did Grayson do that to ya too?"

"He did, Val. Among other things."

"And now what?"

"Now? You gotta get Scott outta jail. I want ya ta talk to Sam. Talk ta Sam in front of that attorney whatever he is. Sam don't owe Lancer anything, ain't no one who wouldn't believe him. He knows the kid wasn't kidnapped, he was here."

"That's a good idea, and in the mean time? What are you gonna do, Johnny?"

"Just gonna rest up, Val. And once I do, there won't be anyone who can stop me from going to town. It's time I saw Grayson again. It's time we end this thing one way or another."

Moving toward the door, Val cast one more glance back toward his friend. Johnny's eyes were closed and he sighed contentedly while he slid down deeper into his bed. No doubt pain free for the first time in a while. Without opening his eyes Johnny spoke once more. His voice was hard and commanding. "Leave the bottle."

"You sure about that, Johnny?"

"Never more sure about anything, Val. Leave it."

Val looked at the bottle, holding it up to the waning light. It was better than half gone. He placed it on the dresser and walked out the door closing it softly behind him.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

~*~Chapter 18~*~

Val turned to face the door he'd just closed. Making a fist, he swiftly raised it ready to rage against the carved wood. Thinking better of it he opened his hand before impact and allowed it to land softly. He followed it with the other palm and finally his forehead. He was not the least bit happy about what he'd just witnessed. Truth be told, he was downright furious. He'd seen what men went through when they tried to step away from the little brown bottle and it wasn't pretty and worst of all, most times it didn't stick. Was it already too late for Johnny? Johnny certainly seemed to think so. Val had no way of knowing how much was needed to reawaken the sleeping devil. A lot less, he imagined, than it took to create it.

Shaking his head he silently opened the door just enough to reach in and pluck the half-empty bottle from the dresser top. If it's not too late, it sure wasn't gonna be him that let it happen. No, if Johnny wanted more, it wasn't coming with Val Crawford's help.

~*~*~*~

"You're going to wear a hole through the floor of you don't stop pacing." Murdoch spoke as he lay on the narrow cot in the jail cell, his large frame much too long for the small bed.

"How can you just lay there like that?" Scott continued his trek to the far corner of the cell, his voice was strained from pent up anger and he raised his hands in exasperation.

"What would you have me do, Scott?" Murdoch's tone was calm and controlled, in sharp contrast to his son's. "I'm ashamed of my behavior. I told Johnny I could handle it. I was so certain." He pushed himself up with a grunt, his feet touching the floor at the end of the bed. Using the bars he pulled himself up then stretched out his back. "It is actually more comfortable than it looks," he said casting a glance back toward the cot.

"Maybe we should see about putting one in your room. Oh, wait a minute this is your room," Scott snapped. He spun on his toes and started back across the cell toward his father.

"Now, Scott, this is an annoyance to be sure but I don't expect to be here long. Do you really think anyone would believe we kidnapped that boy? And as for my punch, they can't hold me forever. It is hardly a capital offense. Johnny is home and Val is with him. This is not the end of the world."

"What do you mean no one would believe it? That man Love did and he has Val jumping through hoops."

"That he does, Scott that he does."

"How do we even know he's the real attorney general? What's to say a man like Grayson hasn't paid him? It's not like he hasn't worked with a partner before. That man Socorro comes to mind."

"Oh, he's John Lord Love. I saw him the last time I was in Sacramento, though we were not formally introduced. Everyone, from the Governor on down sang his praises. His goal is to eliminate privately funded law officials like Val and fill the positions with appointed officials. It seemed a good idea at the time."

"Regardless, Murdoch, we have no business being in here and you know it," Scott raised his voice trying to get the attention of Mr. Love who he hoped was still in the back room, the room that had been set up as a make-shift doctor's office for Sam.

"I think you are wasting your breath, Scott. There have been no sounds from back there for quite some time. We have to be patient." Murdoch raked a large hand through already mussed hair. "That's something I wish I had been when talking to that, that… repugnant ass of a man." His shoulders slumped. "How many lives has he ruined?"

Scott stopped his forward motion and planted his hands firmly on his hips. He gave his father a pointed stare. "It may sound callous but, I really don't care about what he has done to other people. Not Remy, not his sister, not anyone. What I care about is this family and he's done enough damage to last a lifetime and apparently he's not finished." He returned to his pacing. "I don't understand what he could have possibly said to you in the span of a few minutes that caused you to haul off and hit the man. You usually are so much more… composed." Upon reaching the bars he grabbed hold and gave a firm tug. Releasing only one hand he allowed himself to swing around until his back rested on the bars. He crossed his arms over his stomach. "I'm waiting."

"I know." Murdoch looked away and took up the pacing. "I was sure there was nothing he could say, nothing I hadn't heard before, but he has this way about him and what he said… If half is true…" He shook his head. "I admit to being very concerned for the girl." Murdoch turned abruptly his voice resonating with barely controlled rage. "I hate him, Scott. I hate him more than I've ever hated before, even Haney. And there was a time I thought that impossible." He drew a deep breath and his control returned. "I hope that doesn't say the wrong thing to you. It's not that I…"

"I think I understand, Murdoch. Where Haney caused things to happen with his ruthless behavior he was unaware of all the possible effects. Grayson, on the other hand, is duly conscious of the cause and effect tied to each of his actions. He is neither unaware nor a fool."

"You're right, Scott, Grayson is no fool, not by a long shot." With several long strides Murdoch was across the cell and he leaned his shoulder into the bars, facing his son. "But I most certainly am. I stumbled right into his little trap. He wanted me to hit him and knew exactly how to do it. It is unsettling, a man you've never met knowing you so well."

"And how did he accomplish that, exactly?" Scott questioned.

Murdoch's eyes drifted to the floor and he sighed. "I'm not sure how many details Johnny has shared with you about Grayson."

"Enough to know I won't be sad when I hear the man's dead."

"Neither will I, Scott, neither will I. What I can say is I'm grateful Johnny is of legal age, because if he weren't, Grayson could conceivably make the claim that he was the kidnapped son."

"Murdoch, you're talking nonsense. How could he make such an outlandish accusation? Your Johnny's father, there's no question about that."

"No, Scott, no question on that count. But… you see… Maria and I… we were never married. At least not under the eyes of God or the law."

"This is ridiculous! Or course you were."

"No, Maria was married to Grayson and always was."

"Murdoch, what are you saying?"

"I had no idea she had been married before and she had no idea he was still alive. It was only last year…"

Scott dropped his head briefly, realizing when this information came to light.

"In the eyes of most people, including, I believe, her own, that made Maria an adulterous whore and Johnny her bastard son, bound by both the law and her faith to follow the man she wed." He moved away from the bars leaving Scott to stare at his back in disbelief.

"He spoke of this? Is that when you hit him?"

"Yes, Scott." Murdoch stopped and lowered his head but did not turn around. Wearily he rubbed the back of his neck then let the hand remain. "Last year, Johnny told me Grayson had a way of making a person feel dirty. I never really understood." Standing tall, he placed his large hands on his lower back and curled into them. "But now I do," he said softly. "He did exactly that with his remarks about Maria and the girl." Scott continued to watch as his father shook his head accompanied by a hollow laugh. "I thought I was being shrewd. I accused him of not being smart with that feeble attempt at a new name."

"It does seem a poor choice. All he did was eliminate the Hor of Horace and the son..." Scott paused for a moment. His lip curled and he gave his head a nearly imperceptible nod. "Clever, very clever."

Murdoch turned slowly to face his son. "Yes, he is. His exact words were, 'with the mere stroke of a pen I managed to rid myself of both the whore and her bastard son.' That is when I hit him." Murdoch looked at his hand. Forming a fist he rubbed at his knuckles. His face hinted of a smile. "The satisfaction was fleeting."

Frustration welled in Scott and he could feel what little patience he had slipping away. Twisting around, he gripped the bars and gave then several strong pulls. The resulting clatter proved satisfying. For the moment his anger dissipated and he turned back to face his father. "Do you have any idea how long Johnny lived with him?"

The older man's eyes traveled from his fist to his son. "About four years, I believe. Four long years of laudanum use and God knows what else. It sickens me, he was still a child."

"Child or not what Grayson did was vile and he needs to be punished." Once again Scott felt his anger churning beneath the surface and he struggled to keep it under control. Pushing off the bars his pacing began anew as he strode purposefully past his father. His mind turned over the deeds of this man. He may hold little compassion for Remy but there was slightly more for his sister. They were children, young children, when Grayson entered their lives. Uncontrollably his thoughts jumped to Willie. He thought he'd folded up that little part of his day and packed it neatly away. But there it was, at the mere mention of children. This was neither the time nor the place and he began a valiant quest for something positive. "I'm beginning to think it was fortunate Johnny was hurt. Maybe Grayson will be on his way before Johnny can make it into town."

Before the words left his mouth Scott realized the absurdity of his statement and raised his hand to prevent Murdoch's protest. "I know, I know, a fool's prayer."

"It most certainly is. We both know Horace Grayson did not come all this way without some expectation. And that expectation, at the very least, is to see Johnny. He even mentioned as much in Val's office. Said he'd lost another boy, a boy about Remy's age, and that he'd give anything to see him again." Murdoch grimaced. "I'm convinced his expectations go beyond merely seeing him. I only wish I knew what he hopes to accomplish."

A glimmer of optimism sparked in Scott. "Murdoch, as much as Grayson would like us to believe he pulls all the strings, it's obvious he does not. I'm sure Johnny breaking his leg has forced him to regroup somewhat."

"Johnny's accident would have been impossible to predict. And you're sure Remy was not around when it happened?"

"I'm sure. When the logs were being loaded he was with me and after the meal he was cleaning up his mess. You know, Murdoch, I get the impression this kidnapping scheme was rather hastily thrown together as a result."

"Perhaps you're right, Scott, it could be an attempt to force Johnny into town. Considering the boy's clumsiness, I'm sure his injuries could be easily explained with a visit to Spanish Wells. The only exception would be the mark on his wrist."

"Yes, I regret that. I'm not sure what got into me."

Murdoch stepped in his son's path and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Scott, I know you're upset about Johnny, but I get the distinct impression there is something else bothering you. You were very annoyed when I approached you in the wagon earlier and the way you handled Remy. I've got to believe it was more than Johnny's beads. Just because we are focused on this problem doesn't mean all others should be neglected."

"I'm sorry, was it that noticeable?"

"Yes. It was. You were almost in good spirits this morning when the rest of us were ready to spit nails. Something happened."

Heaving a weighty sigh Scott walked to the cot and sat down, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes focused on a small cut he must have received while helping Willie clean up the broken glass caused by Remy and his whirlwind.

"It's your turn Scott. I'm waiting."

Still looking at his hand Scott started softly. "I asked Willie to marry me today."

"Judging by your demeanor, I'd say she did not answer yes."

"You judge correctly." Scott raised his head slightly and offered the semblance of a smile.

"I'm sorry, Scott. Why? What reason did she give?" Murdoch asked as he sat beside his son causing the bed to groan.

Scott jumped to his feet for fear the small cot would collapse. "She's afraid I'm in love with the thought of a family more than I'm in love with her."

"I see. And is her fear justified?"

"I've thought about it most of the morning and I'm not sure, Murdoch. There is no doubt that I love her, and I do want to be a father someday."

"And who's to say you won't be? Does Willie not want children?"

"She loves children," Scott replied catching himself grinning at his reminiscence. "She keeps a jar of peppermints under the counter and revels in the smiles or sticky kisses she gets in thanks after handing them out." His grin faded. "But… she was married for six years, Murdoch, and never a child, never was with-child."

Murdoch pushed off from the cot and moved toward his son. "Over the years I've come to learn, Scott, there are few guarantees in life. You're born, you die, there's not much else. Pinning hopes on dreams and expectations can prevent a lot of happiness. I turned myself into a bitter man wishing for the return of my family, closing myself off from so much. And then, when I learned you would both return I was… terrified. And, in truth, yours and Johnny's homecoming was nothing like I'd imagined. In some ways it was so much better and in others so much worse. But I can tell you; my only regret is that it didn't happen sooner." He reached out to his son and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder then pulled him in quickly, holding the moment for a second or two.

"I don't want to mislead her, Murdoch."

"And you won't. I've never known you to mislead anyone, why would you start with the woman you love? Of course, I cannot answer for you Scott, but from what I see you do love her and she you. Where is the sense in holding out in the hopes of finding something better?"

The sound of footsteps interrupted their conversation.

"Val? Is that you?" Murdoch called out.

"No, Mr. Lancer, it's not."

~*~*~*~

It was just coming on to candle lighting time when Val pulled up in front of Sam's office, dismounted and banged loudly on the door. The way this day was going he knew, wherever he went first, the doctor would not be there. When he left Green River he'd sent someone to fetch Sam. Now, that was several hours ago, more than enough time to make it there and back. He banged on the door once more. God damn he missed Gabe. Things were much easier when there were two sheriffs. He was a good man. Was a damn shame when he took sick last winter, him and the widow Hargis were the only two Sam lost. Doc didn't take it so good. His temper gets the better of him sometimes now, a lot more than it used to. Guess it's kinda like being a sheriff. It's always harder when you're dealin' with someone ya know and harder still when you're dealin' with someone ya like.

"That you, Val?"

"Yes, Miss Willie. You seen Sam this evenin'?"

"No, he's not back from Green River yet. I've been waiting for him. Didn't you just come from there?"

"No, Ma'am, I came from Lancer."

"Is everyone alright? Has something else happened aside from Johnny's leg? Scott? Is he alright?"

"Oh, Scott ain't at Lancer, Ma'am. I'm afraid to be the teller of bad news, but he's in jail for kidnappin'. Him and Murdoch both."

"Jail? Kidnapping? Val, don't joke about things like that. It isn't funny."

"Ain't, Ma'am. It's kinda a long story but you can be sure he won't be there long. Hell, he might be out tonight if I have any say about it."

"Val, you're the sheriff, if you don't have say then who does?"

"That there is another part of the story, Miss Willie."

"And just who have Murdoch and Scott kidnapped? If I am allowed to ask."

"You are and it's that boy Remy. Do you know him, Ma'am?"

"Know him? Why that boy nearly broke everything in my Café the other day, Val. Lord Sakes he's probably about the clumsiest thing on two feet."

"You don't say?"

"Well don't take just my word for it. Go ask Mrs. Wilkes and Lou over at the livery. I'd be surprised if the boy wasn't covered head to toe with bumps and bruises especially after his run in with Joker."

"Joker," Val stated with a snicker and a nod of his head.

"Thank you kindly, Miss Willie, you have been very helpful. Now if you don't mind I think I'll knock on a few doors. Any message for Scott when I see him later tonight?"

"No, Val, no message. Thank you though. Good night."

"Ain't no bother. If ya think a somethin' I should be in town for a while. And if ya see Sam would ya tell him not ta go ta bed till I talk with him?"

"I can do that, Sheriff. I have dinner ready for him, so I'll be paying attention."

"Much obliged, Ma'am." Val tipped his hat and strode across the street toward the livery.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

~*~Chapter 19~*~

"Sorry ta disappoint, Mr. Lancer, it's only me."

The descending darkness had gone unnoticed while Murdoch and Scott occupied their time in deep conversation. Scott peered into the dimly lit office in an attempt to determine who was speaking, the voice familiar yet unremarkable in its tone. The man was only a shadow against the golden glow of the fading sun. Its light tarnished further by the dirty office window.

"Sure is dark in here. Everyone done and left ya, huh?"

"Stu? Is that you?" Scott finally asked.

"Yup," he replied. The flare of a match briefly illuminated his face. He lit the wall lamp and blew out the smaller flame. "Heard you was here, couldn't believe it, but I heard it. So, thought I'd come and take a look." He moved closer, studying the two men.

"What's going on out there Stu? Did you see anyone?"

"Sam. We saw Sam on our way inta town. Din't talk though, just waved. Think he was headin' back ta Spanish Wells. Then, at the Painted Lady, you was the talk of the place, Mr. Lancer. That was one meaty punch ya done throwed. Always knew ya had it in ya. That gamblin' man must a said some nasty shit is all I gotta say."

"That may be true, but I should have never allow…"

"Makes no never mind ta me, Mr. Lancer. Just thought ya stomach's might be rublin' by now. Me and Frank, we come in ta play some cards, well, I was gonna play cards he planned a different sort of entertainment if ya get my drift, he likes that little red head and..."

"I believe we've got it, Stu." Scott said abruptly.

"Anyway, I ordered up some chow, should be ready right quick. Just wanted ta make sure ya wuz still here first."

"We're still here. I imagine we will be for the rest of the night," Murdoch said with a sigh. "Tell me, have you seen Val, or his visitor?"

"That fella with the funny beard? Yeah, he was at the saloon." He snickered. "Had a pretty little thing sittin' with him too – well not exactly with him, more like on him. And not one a the regular gals neither. Think this little filly belongs ta that there err... friend a yours, Mr. Lancer." Stu grinned. "S'pose I'll get that chow now. Be right back," he said on his way out the door.

Scott and Murdoch exchanged looks. Scott shook his head. "At this rate we'll be stuck in here till next month, Murdoch, if your Mr. Love is fraternizing with, what's her name? Reba?"

"Yes, that's what Remy called her. Grayson used her full name, Rebecca, same as her mother. I saw a picture. Their name wasn't the only thing they shared. She was the spitting image." Murdoch shivered. "Remy didn't lie about that part, Scott. It would appear the child has replaced her mother in every way."

"He has no conscience, he doesn't care who he hurts in fact I think he takes pleasure in other people's pain." Scott paused. "You do realize this does not bode well for us."

"I do."

"This family won't be able to rest until that man is dead, Murdoch. Dead and buried. It has been how many years? And he decides now to come back into Johnny's life?" Scott felt his stomach knot when he heard voices from outside. It sounded like Stu and Mr. Love in a rather heated discussion. When the door finally opened it was Love that carried the tray. "I understand you gentlemen would like some dinner."

"I'm not hungry," Scott growled.

"Well, I'm hungry. What have you brought for us, Mr. Love?" Murdoch reached through the bars and lifted the cloth. "Is that Mabel's apple pie?"

"You are a popular man around these parts, Mr. Lancer. It is far better than what I was offered. I can guarantee you that."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Scott muttered under his breath.

Murdoch glowered at him and finished with a harsh. "Shhhh."

The attorney general looked at Scott with a puzzled expression then shook his head. "I have had a rather lengthy discussion with the doctor and it is of my opinion… that… I may have… well..." He turned away and set the tray on Val's desk. Pulling open the drawer he removed the keys to the cell. "Damn, I am not very good at admitting mistakes."

"Mistakes?" Scott and Murdoch both said at the same time.

"Yes, mistakes," he said while unlocking the door with one hand and balancing the tray with the other. "I think the child may have been stretching the truth a bit, possibly trying to protect himself from his father's wrath." Once the door was opened he passed the tray to Murdoch. "It would appear that some of his bruises were caused by…" he slammed the door shut, "…perhaps his own father. They matched the pattern of the man's cane."

"Then why aren't you letting us go?" Scott asked.

John Lord returned the keys to the drawer before answering. "As soon as your sheriff returns I'll inform him of the situation. Unfortunately, there is no recourse if a man chooses to punish his child. He may do so in any manner he sees fit. And he did confess to hitting the boy, which is why he ran away in the first place. So you see?" He offered an offhand smile. "It was all simply a misunderstanding. I hope you can see past it to forgive me."

"Let us out now then," Scott said as he moved toward the cell door. "And we'll be on our way."

"Oh, I don't think so. First we wait for Sheriff Crawford. I must be careful not overstep my boundaries any more that I already have. And second, you Mr. Lancer." He pointed at the older man. "You have to spend two nights in jail. According to statutes, that is the minimum time to be served. And I believe in following the letter of the law."

"And what of Remy, is there a letter of the law for him? He made false accusations, what punishment is required of him?" Scott asked.

"It is my determination that his punishment will be metered out by his father. No need for the law to get mixed up with that business, now is there?"

It was at that precise moment that Val stormed through the door muttering to himself. He walked across the room to his desk, pulled open the top drawer and removed his keys. When he finally took a minute to look around he bristled and ran a hand over his lengthening stubble. "Why is everyone lookin' at me for? Hell, I'm the only one that belongs here."

He unlocked the cell door and motioned to Scott. "Git outta there. Go home." He turned to Murdoch. "You! You're stayin'." He turned to face the attorney general. "There was no kidnappin' and if you got a problem with that then it's just too damn bad."

"No, Sheriff Crawford, there's no problem. In fact after speaking with your physician I came to the same conclusion."

Val turned to Scott. "Wait up fer me outside." He cast a quick glance at Murdoch then looked back at Scott. "I saw Willie, there's somethin' I need to talk ta ya about."

Scott dropped his head and put on his hat. He briefly glanced back at his father before stepping outside. Standing on the boardwalk, he waited for Val. Unsure of what, if anything, Willie told him about their current situation. The thought that she would have confided anything didn't sit well and he found himself growing angry. Of course, in his present state it didn't take much. By the time Val pulled the door closed Scott was more than ready to go toe to toe and set things straight. "Look Val," he started. His finger poised in the air just above the lawman's nose. "I don't know what Willie told you but…"

"Wait a God damn minute." Val pushed Scott's finger away and replaced it with his own, this one pressing into Scott's shoulder with each spoken word. "Don't think for one second I give a rat's ass about you and Willie."

Scott pushed back at the lawman then spun away.

"I just didn't want to talk about this in front of your father. But maybe, I'm wrong. Maybe you're the hotheaded one that should be left in the cell. Murdoch, at least, has gotten his temper in check."

"Only on the surface, Val." He swallowed hard then continued. "It's there, underneath. This whole thing has both of us ready to throw punches." A hand clamped down on Scott's shoulder and he turned back to face Val. "We both wish that man dead," he said barely above a whisper.

"All three of ya, Johnny too," Val added. "And if I weren't the law I'd be right alongside ya." Val moved away glancing past Scott toward the glow of the livery. He gave his head a small nod in the direction they were headed. "I've asked Clayton ta saddle up a horse, Scott. He'll bring it around when it's ready. You need to get back to Lancer."

"Why, Val? What was it you wanted to discuss? Did something happen to Johnny?"

"He was in a bad way, worried about you two. Murdoch was right ta send me, no tellin' what he would a done." Val started to walk toward the livery and Scott followed. "This man, Grayson's got him all twisted up and his leg is hurtin'. Johnny told me some of what he's done and I gotta tell ya..."

"Get on with it, Val. What happened?"

They'd made their way to the opposite side of the street. It was dark and Scott couldn't see Val's face. "Hmph, did ya know he kept a bottle of tequila in his bottom drawer?" He paused and Scott began to answer the question but Val continued before he could speak. "Don't matter none I guess. Damage's been done."

"What damage, Val? What are you talking about?"

"Laudanum, Scott, there was laudanum mixed in that bottle. Johnny says it must a been the kid. By the time he done realized what he was drinkin' he'd had more than a little. He didn't tell me till he drank damn near half the bottle." They stood in the doorway of the livery. A soft yellow glow from the lantern within cast long shadows. Scott leaned heavily on the door's frame and squeezed his eyes shut. Val continued. "I caught up with Sam on my way back here and sent him over. Gave him the bottle so he'd know what he was up against."

Lifting his head Scott shouted to the owner of the livery. "Damn it, Clayton, where is that horse?" He then turned back to Val. Placing his hands on the sheriff's shoulder's he looked him in the eyes. "You know?"

"I do now."

"What does that mean, Val? He told me he couldn't do it again, not a third time."

"Shit." Val's gaze dropped to the floor then returned to Scott. "He's done this twice already? Guess I don't know as much as I thought. Maybe Sam… maybe he… damn I don't know, Scott." He shook his head.

Clayton led Scott's horse out. "Sorry, Scott, had one all saddled then caught him favorin' his right front. Had ta start agin."

Without a word Scott mounted up. Steadying the anxious bay he looked at Val. "Murdoch is fighting hard to stay in control, Val. If word of this gets to him, there is no telling what might happen. Until this afternoon I thought Johnny's fears about what Murdoch might do were unfounded. Now I'm not so sure. Keep an eye on him."

"That's not the half of it, Scott."

"What?"

"Never mind just git." He slapped the horse hard on the rump and it took off into the darkness.

Scott's mind raced along with his mount, trying to understand what this new development would mean. Where did it leave Johnny? He'd never watched a man try to break free before and as much as wanted to be there for his brother he'd being lying to himself if he didn't admit to being more than a little scared. Johnny hated for people to see him in situations beyond his control and this, this would be about as bad as it gets. His thoughts went to Willie and he wished she would be there. Of course she wouldn't, after his behavior today she'd have every right not to speak to him again. What had he been thinking? He loved Willie and Murdoch was right you can plan and imagine every second of every day but things never turn out like you expect. Not like you expect. He scoffed. Johnny was a prime example of that. Did it matter if marriage to Willie was not as he expected? God, he needed Willie by his side. She gave him strength, strength beyond reason, just like Johnny did.

There was no warning. By the time Scott heard the shot it was already too late. It was a direct hit. His horse reared at the frontal assault then fell to the ground taking Scott with it. His leg was trapped beneath the still quivering mound of horseflesh and his attempts to free himself were in vain. The last thing he remembered was the crushing blow of the butt end of a rifle.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

~*~Chapter 20~*~

Awareness wove its way through the darkness one thread at a time, and each thread pulled along a ribbon of pain. Squeezing his eyes closed, he longed for the welcoming warmth that was slipping away, the gentle touch of a woman's silken fingers, the satisfying fullness of that moment before two becomes one, the fiery comfort of exhaustion mixed with never-ending pleasure. Now, each slice of pain claimed a harsh intake of breath. Each breath dragged him further and further away from what he desired most.

A groan escaped passed his dry lips. Dios, he remembered. He remembered the pain, the bitter taste, the fear. But most of all, he remembered the weakness, his weakness, and it left him feeling sick inside.

Opening his eyes, a needle of bright light forced them closed. He curled on his side, wrapped his arms around his aching belly and slowly opened them once more. A person stood by the window. Blinking away his blurred vision he struggled to bring him into focus. "Go away," Johnny growled.

"Don't start with me," Sam growled back. "I've been up all night, which means my day started with you yesterday morning. I even had the pleasure of dealing with that friend of your father's and his son. Now I have the privilege of being back here with you."

Johnny glared. "You can leave any time, and you know damn well they aren't friends of this family, Sam."

"I'm well aware of that," Sam said, exposing his regret. "I was simply trying to… Oh hell, I don't know what I was trying to do." He moved away from the window and perched himself on the edge of the chair by the bed. Leaning forward he placed his elbows on his knees and studied his patient. Johnny avoided the concerned stare by rolling onto his back and looking at the ceiling. "You had me very worried. Do you realize how dangerous this can be? Too much laudanum and you could die."

"I didn't die, Sam, so you can quit your worryin'."

"Wish that I could, Johnny, wish that I could."

"It just ain't part of the plan, least not my dyin'. There are a few others though… " He pushed himself into a sitting position and clutched his stomach, groaning for a second time. "Sure don't remember my belly hurtin' like this. Not this soon anyway."

"That would be me my fault, Johnny. I tried to induce vomiting. Too little, too late."

"I don't remember."

"No, I don't imagine you would. But the effects of the ipecac will linger for a while, reminding you, I'm afraid."

"Thanks, Sam, I didn't have enough goin' on."

An awkward silence hung in the air between the two men until Sam rose from the chair and returned to the window. "It looks like it will be a nice day," he stated as if meeting an acquaintance on the street. "A little breezy but not a cloud to be seen."

Curling into the pain in his gut Johnny scoffed, "There are plenty of clouds, Sam, each one a storm in the making."

The doctor rested his forehead on the glass. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

His stomach finally stopped its dance and Johnny leaned back against the headboard. "Where's the rest of the lecture, Sam. Why aren't you telling me how foolish I was… am?"

Sam glanced away from the window. He laughed a tired laugh. "Would it do any good?"

"No, no." Johnny shook his head thoughtfully. "Wish I'd had enough sense to…"

"To what, Johnny? Not drink it? Spit it out? What could you have done differently?"

"I didn't have to give in to it, Sam." The weight of remorse bore down on each word. "I let it get under my skin with the first sip of that damn coffee, and it's all I've thought about since. There's a piece of me that wants it, and it's getting' in the way of everything else." For a moment he squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a long slow breath before speaking again. "You have no idea how good it can feel."

"No, Johnny, I don't." Sam cast his eyes back toward the window and ran his finger across the sill. "I have no idea how good it makes you feel or how hard it is to say no. It is not an area in which I have much experience. Not any, actually. If I'm being honest, I'm at a loss. I don't know what you expect from me."

"Don't expect anything from you, Sam." Johnny's voice quickly hardened. "But there is one thing I need."

"And what would that be?"

"Need you to go. Need you to leave me alone, Sam. Do ya think you can do that?"

"Well, I must say I wasn't expecting that," Sam spoke as he looked at his finger for a minute then rubbing thumb to finger he watched the fine dust drift to the floor. "I don't know, Johnny. Can you leave it alone? Can you walk away that easily? Or is it already causing you difficulty?"

"Difficulty?" Johnny snorted. "Is that what you call it?"

"What would you have me call it?"

"Oh, I don't know, but it sure as hell ain't no difficulty." Johnny laughed through a moan rubbing his stomach as it threatened once more. "It's kind a like bein' dragged by a horse. If you recall I have some experience with that."

"I recall."

"Ya claw and ya scrape at anything you can, but it does no good. You're scared as hell when ya realize there ain't nothin' that's gonna stop it, and then ya just give in." He looked past the doctor to the dresser. "Where's the bottle?"

"Gone," Sam advised through hooded eyes. "Val gave it to me, and I disposed of it, you'll get none from me."

"Damn you and Val both!" Johnny's anger burst forth with no warning. "He had no business takin' it after I told him to leave it and you... Yesterday, all I needed to do was ask, and you would have given it to me. Hell, you dangled it in front of me like it was some kind of God damn prize. Now you think you get to call the shots? Well, let me tell you something. You don't."

"I'm sorry, Johnny." Sam's eyes grew large at the sudden outburst but his voice remained calm.

"For what?" Johnny snapped viciously.

"I should have never offered you any, not with my suspicions."

A bitter laugh filled the room. "You give yourself an awful lot of credit. You do realize I don't need your permission. You can just leave me the fuck alone."

"You don't need to use that tone with me, Young Man, I'm only trying to help."

Johnny dropped his head, his voice subdued. "You can't help me, Sam. I'm on a bridge and its burning at both ends. How the hell can you help me?" He cast a sideways glance at the doctor regretting his rage but feeling no need to apologize. "I don't want to believe one time is gonna rip my insides out, but I do know, right now, if that bottle was here…" He looked straight at Sam with a fierce intensity. "There ain't a soul that could stop me from drinkin' it. I'm the only one who gets to decide what needs doin'." He swallowed hard and ran his tongue over cracked lips. Reaching for the water picture his fingers came up short. "Could use a little water."

Stepping away from the window Sam looked at Johnny. "Yes, yes of course." He poured the glass and eyed Johnny carefully as he sipped.

"So, why don't you tell me what needs doing?"

Johnny breathed out and stared into the water glass. "Waitin', just waitin'. With Murdoch and Scott locked safe away I can step back. Grayson works too hard to look like the upstanding citizen. He won't touch either one of them as long as they're in jail. And that gives me time to heal up a little. Another day or two and I'll be able to sit a wagon inta town. Shouldn't hurt too much, right, Sam?" There was no answer from the doctor. He'd returned to the window, peering past the glass. "Right, Sam?" Johnny repeated, a feeling of dread adding to his inescapable anger.

"What if things have changed, Johnny?" Sam turned to look at him and leaned over the back of the chair. "What if Scott's on his way back? What would need doing then?"

Johnny got quiet and rubbed his eyes. When he spoke his voice was soft. "Is that why you been lookin' out the window, Sam? You're waitin' for Scott?"

"I am." Sam straightened. "I thought he'd be here by now, expected him back long before daybreak."

"Daybreak, huh? That was, what? …an hour ago?"

"More or less," Sam sighed. "When I saw Val, he told me he was heading straight for Green River and would send Scott on his way, no delays."

Johnny pushed to the end of the bed burying the pain as best he could but couldn't do the same with the panic in his voice. "And how long ago was that, Sam? How long have you been here?"

"I don't know, Johnny, seven maybe eight hours. Teresa was in bed, I let myself in."

"Damn it, Sam! It don't take that long to make the trip from town. Either somethin' happened to Val or to Scott, but no matter how ya look at it this ain't playing in our favor." Using the chair he stood and moved past the doctor. "I want you to leave," his voice was calm but firm, leaving no room for doubt.

But, Johnny I don't think…"

"I don't give a damn what you think. You're leaving and you're takin' Teresa with you."

"I don't like the sound of this," Sam spouted. "Look at you! You're already sweating from the pain. How are you going to…?" The doctor shook his head. "No, no, this reckless behavior will accomplish nothing. I won't stand for it, and I certainly won't leave anything behind." He grabbed his doctor's bag from the floor. "You'll get no help from me, John."

Before opening the door Johnny pressed this head to the wood. He swallowed hard, forcing down the fear and the pain and the most recent urge to puke. "The only thing I want, Sam, is for you to get out of here." He forced the words out through clenched teeth then opened the door and moved as quickly as his leg would allow. "I'm sure Willie won't mind having Teresa for a few days, especially if something has happened to Scott. They'll do each other good."

Taking one stair at a time was unbearably slow, and he cursed each agonizing step. When he finally reached the bottom his shirt clung to his sweat soaked skin. It took a moment before he could get enough breath to call out. "Teresa!" He hated the crack in his voice, making him sound weak, and he tried again. "Teresa!"

The young woman emerged from the kitchen, concern furrowing her brow. "What! What's wrong, Johnny?"

"Pack some things. Sam's taking you with him to Spanish Wells."

"But why, Johnny? I can't leave you here."

"You won't be. I'm going to Green River. Don't want you here alone."

"I'm hardly alone," she mused. "And you're hardly fit enough to stand let alone go all the way to Green River."

"Damn it, Teresa, would you listen to me? Scott was due back hours ago." He watched as she thought about what he'd said. Her face took on a look of determination.

She shook her head. "No, Johnny, you're wrong." Then she looked to Sam. "Tell him he's wrong. Lots of things can slow a man down."

Sam shrugged. "His mind is made up. You know how stubborn he can be."

Returning her gaze to Johnny, she took a step closer. "Johnny, it's not like you to panic."

"Call it what ya want. You're goin'. Now get some things together or go without them, makes no difference to me... "

The sound of a rider caught the attention of all three. Teresa's face brightened with a smile, and she ran to the French doors. "There, that's probably Scott now."

Sam stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He shook his head. "That's not Scott. Looks like one of the hands."

Johnny pushed passed both of them and opened the doors just as Stu reined to a halt.

"Johnny, its good ta see ya out," he said as he dismounted and reached in his saddle bag. "Is Scott here?"

"No, he's not. Thought you might have news."

"Then I'm afraid I do. Found this on my way here." He handed Johnny a hat. "I'm thinkin' it's Scott's. Am I right?"

"You're right. Where'd ya find it?"

"You ain't gonna like this, Johnny, but it was lyin' next to a horse from the livery. The horse was dead, shot, and Scott was nowhere to be found. Thought maybe it was a broke leg or somethin' and Scott walked back, guess not."

"Dios. Did you come right here or did you go back to town?"

"Came right here. Wasn't but a few miles down the road. Didn't make no sense ta turn back. What do ya think happened, Johnny?"

"Stu, get a wagon ready, you're takin' me ta town."

"Ya sure, Johnny? Cain't say you're lookin' up to it."

"Damn it, Stu! Get the wagon!" Johnny calmed himself before turning around to face Teresa. "See, Teresa? You do as I say, okay? With Murdoch in jail and me in town and Scott… well, you need to be someplace safe and that place is Spanish Wells. Tell me you understand."

Through teary eyes, she nodded and ran back inside. She quickly returned carrying Murdoch's cane. "I found this Johnny, thought if you didn't have it, you would stay put. With Scott missing, there's nothing that would keep you out of it, is there?"

"No, Teresa, there isn't." He gratefully accepted the cane and Teresa hurried back into the house. Johnny hobbled to one of the chairs on the veranda. Dropping into it, he moved the other one around so he could put up his foot.

"So, how is this working for you, Johnny? Don't you think you should let someone else handle this for you?"

Johnny's eyes were closed and he drew in several sharp hissing breaths, holding each one before releasing it slowly. "Sam, I'm gonna ignore what you just said because you know damn well there is no one else. The way I see it, Grayson is suckin' me out in the open and that's exactly what he's gonna get."

"What do you think he's after Johnny?"

"It must be my soul, because he damn near took everything else."

Tbc


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

There was nothing he wanted more than to open his eyes. A throbbing head, an aching leg and a throat drier than the badlands were all vying for top billing but the need to see was all he wanted to focus on. It really wasn't much of a request. Eyes open. He wasn't asking to see something spectacular, not the rainbow he saw last month that stretched across black mesa, not the eastern seashore at dawn and certainly not his mother. A shiver shook his lean frame. Where did that come from…? His mother… now, that would be a request. Of course death would be the only thing to bring about that vision. He couldn't contain the derisive laugh. Regret silenced it. No, all he hoped to see was his surroundings, no matter how meager, not much of a request at all.

Unconsciousness begged to regain control but he refused it by keeping his mind turning. How long had he been out? It was dark, pitch dark, when he set out for Lancer and now a crack of pale light filtered in from beneath the blindfold. He laughed again. His eyes actually were somewhat open. His request had been granted, part of it anyway.

Sight may be unavailable but he could hear and he strained his ears for sounds of his captors. At first all he heard was his racing heart and unsteady breaths. Then he heard birds. He could hear their sounds in the trees. Well, he imagined trees. They seemed to go hand in hand. No, there were trees. He could make out the rustle of leaves and the scrape of a branch on the roof. That meant he wasn't in town. There weren't any trees to speak of in town. Besides he would have heard voices or wagons or horses but there were none, only nature's silence.

A deep sadness washed over him when he realized he had no gag. There was nothing to silence his cries for help. This was not good for it meant his shouts and pleas would go unheard, no matter how loud. He stilled and allowed more of his reality to take hold. He was lying on his side roped up tight, like a calf. His hands and ankles tied snugly behind him, only inches apart. Someone knew what he was doing. Aside from the injuries he knew about, his leg and his head, he could feel no others. If there was a bright side to consider he supposed that would be it.

There may not have been other injuries but that didn't mean other things didn't hurt. He was quite possibly in the most uncomfortable position he had ever been in. The only way he could rest his head on the floor was if he curled into himself like a ball but that pulled on his restraints. The shoulder he rested on tingled and his injured leg ached unmercifully from the unnatural position.

H e struggled against the ropes, pulling one way bending another. Maybe if he kept working them, trying them, he could free a hand. That's all he needed, just one hand, and then he could remove the blindfold and figure out where he was and get away. It all sounded so damn easy.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours? Bending, twisting, turning, praying, begging, his shoulders ached, his stomach growled, his fingers grew numb until exhaustion forced him to stop. If he'd accomplished anything, he couldn't tell. He listened again. Nothing, only more silence. He called out but his throat was so dry little in the way of a sound escaped. Again he shouted. Deep down, he knew it was in vain, but he had to do something.

~*~*~*~

The wagon slowed as they approached the dead animal. Johnny was relieved it was after the turnoff for Spanish Wells. Teresa was upset enough and if she's seen this, well… He was grateful. The cane helped but not nearly enough as he maneuvered his way to the ground. It kept him upright anyway which with the way he felt, at the moment, was saying a lot.

He bent as best he could to look at the area around the horse. It appeared Scott had been caught and struggled to get free. He could see the mark of a boot heel dug deep in the blood soaked earth, for leverage no doubt. He looked at the pool of blood and prayed it all belonged to the horse. There was no way of telling for sure. Circling out in wider and wider patterns Johnny tried to locate any kind of sign, but there were too many tracks. He couldn't figure out what happened next. "What the hell did you do, Stu, ride around and around? Can't make any sense a this."

"Johnny, not sure whacha lookin' fer. I mean they'd be long gone ain't nothin' ta see."

"Tracks, Stu. There would have been tracks, I mean not many riders have been through, just you, I reckon. And if Grayson did this, and I, sure as hell, can't think of anyone else ta blame, then it had to be the boy or his sister. The old man couldn't do it, not with his leg. Course he could a fired the rifle but carry Scott? Not likely." Johnny lifted his cane for emphasis. "Scott's not an easy man ta deal with if he's barely conscious, I otta know. And if he was conscious then he would a put up one hell of a fight. But I don't see any signs of one."

"Sorry, Johnny, didn't consider anythin' like that happened. Figured he walked home."

"It's alright." Johnny swallowed back his irritation. "You had no way a knowin'." There was a gully that ran alongside the road and Johnny picked his way to the edge. Peering into the scrub and underbrush that dotted the slope he asked, "You seen any new hands around lately, Stu?"

"Ya know there's always a new face er two, Johnny. Think Jeb brought in his nephew from Kansas City a month back and two brothers showed up at the game Friday night sayin' they just started at the Addison Ranch." He rubbed at the stubble on his chin and shook his head. "Cain't think a no one else right off." He moved in behind Johnny and followed his gaze. "You ain't thinkin' a goin' down there with your leg are ya?"

"No, but you are." Johnny tried to smile, but it wasn't in him, his fear for his brother, too consuming. He moved closer to the edge and slipped on a few loose stones. The jarring motion sent yet another wave of pain up his leg.

"You're pushin' awful hard and look like ya gonna fall down. What say we go to town and get Val and a few others out here? If Scott's down there he ain't goin' nowhere."

Johnny bit his lower lip knowing full well Stu was right but didn't want to admit it. He turned to head back to the wagon when something caught his eye. "What's that?"

"What?" asked Stu as he stepped up to the edge beside Johnny.

"That." He pointed with the cane. "It looks like a boot, there under that bush." Johnny took a step forward and started down the embankment before the words were out of his mouth.

"Jesus H. Christ! Would ya let me do it? You tryin' ta kill yourself or what? I'm goin'." Stu slid down the steep bank. He grabbed hold of the boot and pulled. It came free easily and he fell back. "Least it ain't attached ta no feet. That's a good thing right, Johnny?"

"Look around, is he there?" Johnny shouted. He could feel the pounding in his chest as he both hoped Scott was there and prayed he was not. "Scott!" he called out. "Scott!" The sound of his voice thundered against the deafening silence of the response. He switched his cane to the other hand and pulled his gun from its holster. In desperation, he fired into the air, first two shots then after a moment a third. He waited. With each minute, he felt his strength drain away, his good leg buckled beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground. Scott had to be alright, he just had to be.

When he looked up Stu was by his side. "Din't find anything else, Johnny. Not even another boot." He gave a tug on Johnny's arm and with his help Johnny struggled to his feet. "You gonna make it to the wagon, or ya want me to bring it closer?"

"I'm fine," Johnny replied weakly. "I'm just fuckin' fine."

"Ya sure don't look it. No sirree, ya sure as hell don't look fine." He helped Johnny into the back of the wagon and looked at him. "Johnny?"

"Yeah, Stu," Johnny hissed as he clutched at his leg. "I grabbed a couple things from the box a bandages and such in the bunkhouse. He reached into his pocket and pulled out two small brown bottles. "What say ya take a little or ya won't be in any shape ta talk to Val or Murdoch. It's bad enough they're gonna be worried 'bout Scott. Do ya want 'em worrin' 'bout you too?"

Johnny stared at Stu's open palm through narrowed eyes. Pain was all he could think about right now, it had invaded every thought, every breath. And right before him was the one thing, the only thing that could make it all go away.

"Look at ya. And we ain't even movin', Johnny. The road ain't none too smooth ya know. Maybe I should just take ya back ta Lancer."

In a lightning fast motion that surprised even him, Johnny reached out and snatched the bottles from Stu's hand. "We're goin' to town, Stu," he grunted.

"Ya made the right choice, Johnny. You'll feel better in no time, yup, in no time." Stu climbed up into the wagon and with a whip of the reins sent it lumbering forward.

Johnny held one of the bottles to the light. The liquid was hard to see in the dark glass, but he could catch glimpses of it moving with each jolt of the wagon. And with each jolt of the wagon he could feel the pain and the craving grow more and more powerful.

Pulling his eyes away he switched his gaze to the trail of blood. Blood left behind from the wagon's wheels after driving through the thickening pool. He focused on the crimson stripes, forcing his thoughts onto something other than what he held in his hand. Eventually the trail faded.

~*~*~*~

Scott jolted awake. What was that? Gunfire?

The movement quickly reminded him of his predicament. His wrists, rubbed raw from his earlier struggles, protested. His shoulders ached from their awkward position and his injured leg began to cramp up. He waited out the wave of pain.

It was gunfire, of that he was certain. And, by its distance, he was in no immediate danger. He laughed quietly. "Good one, Scott," he spoke just to hear a familiar voice. "No immediate danger. What the hell do you call this?" He scolded himself for his naiveté while struggling against the ropes. Another spasm gripped his leg, halting all movement. Bound, blindfolded and left alone to…. to what? He shook his head in an attempt to clear the dull ache that had settled in behind his eyes and to focus on what he'd heard. Was it only two shots or had it been three? Three was the signal he and Johnny had worked out, two fast then a pause before the third. He only heard two but it could have been the first that woke him. He was buoyed by the thought that maybe it was Johnny. If he was looking for him then perhaps Val had been wrong. Perhaps he wasn't as bad off as the sheriff made it seem? The positive thought was fleeting. Val was rarely mistaken, at least when it came to Johnny.

Spurred on by his thoughts, Scott resumed his struggle. In his earlier haze, he had been unable to think past left side or right side. His limitations had been swiftly established. Each movement only succeeded in sending needle-like tingles up his arm and into his shoulder. Now, after sleeping, his left shoulder long ago stopped tingling and was numb. He rolled onto his stomach, his only other option. His back was out of the question.

With a new found energy he fought to get to his knees. A maneuver he had not previously attempted and was nowhere near as easy as it sounded without the use of his elbows. He needed a sturdy surface to push off against. The floor only took him so far. A wall, there had to be a wall, he was inside after all or better yet, a bed, with a frame. That may be too much to hope for. His mind returned to the shots. Maybe they were fired from where he went down, maybe that meant he was still on or near Lancer, a line shack perhaps. It was something at least, something familiar to work with. Lying on his stomach he used what little motion he had to push along the floor with his thighs. It was slow but at least he could see he was making progress. Another laugh escaped. See, he couldn't see a damn thing.

The repetition of motion brought forth the same churning of the mind as stillness, and he didn't like where his thoughts were going. Johnny, Grayson and Willie all tumbled around together in the darkness. Damn he wished he could see.

Inch by inch he worked his way across the floor, bumping into a chair it toppled when he tried to use it to right himself. Why was he blindfolded anyway? There was no one here he could identity. Not like he didn't know who was behind this. It had to be Grayson. He laughed aloud. If a horse weren't dead he might have half suspected Willie. Not only was she fair with a rifle, but she was probably pretty damn mad as well. Willie. He would give anything to be the recipient of her wrath at this very moment. He loved the glint in her eye when he sparked her anger and the way her lip curled on one side just before she'd let him have it. Willie. He sighed deeply. "Willie," he said aloud. "I'm sorry, Willie."

"Was she safe? Did she know he was missing? Damn, he wished he had some idea of how much time had passed.

Why? Why was he here? It was unlikely this had anything to do with him directly. No, most likely he knew exactly who was behind this. Grayson. But, why? Why get him out of the way?

It would seem Grayson was hell bent on isolating Johnny. Leaving him alone and craving laudanum. The same way he was all those years ago. The thought left Scott feeling sick inside. What was he after, or was he even after anything at all except torment?

He'd known men like that, men that thrived on tormenting others. Their only reward? Selfish pleasure as near as he could figure. He'd watched them first hand unable to do anything to stop them. How he managed to escape the worst of them, he'll never know. They'd give food to starving men then just as the spoon touched their lips, they'd snatch it away and eat it themselves. They'd allow a man to think he could go free as an exchange of prisoners then release the dogs once they got past the gate. It broke their spirit, if it didn't kill them, and brought smiles to the lips of their tormentors. Scott shivered at the black memory. He couldn't understand it then, and he certainly couldn't understand it now.

Tbc

8


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

One final rut rocked the wagon before Stu brought the horses to a full stop. This one didn't rattle Johnny's bones as much as the first hundred, or so, but did slightly more than the last hundred.

"Damn it, Stu, don't you think you could a missed just one a those?"

"Sorry, Johnny. Thought you was in a hurry."

"You thought right, Stu. Just wish it could a been smoother, is all." Johnny slid to the end of the wagon and took pleasure in planting his left foot firmly on the ground. He glanced down the street and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no one. Balancing on his good leg he twisted around and peered at Stu.

"Would a been, if not for that rain the other day, you remember Johnny…" He set the brake, and reached under the seat. "Guess I don't need ta remind you seein' as it was the day you banged up your leg."

"No, Stu, I remember." Johnny answered as he jammed the two bottles into the waistband of his pants. Not the most comfortable spot but he had few options. He reached back into the wagon to grab the cane, hating the thought of being seen with the damn thing. It made him look weak. But falling to the ground because his leg gave out would make him look a damn sight weaker. Weak. He suppressed a laugh. At least his greatest weakness couldn't be seen.

Repositioning his hat to block the afternoon sun, he watched Stu jump from the wagon carrying his saddle bag. "Here's ya gear," he said passing over the bag. "You're really plannin' on staying in town?"

"Yeah, I'm staying. Don't think I could take the return trip in that damn wagon, 'specially with you drivin'." He took the bag from Stu's outstretched hand. "Thank you," he said, forcing a smile, and dropped the bag over his shoulder. "Listen, Stu, I want you to get these horses over to the livery. Have Clayton give you a fresh one and come right back here. You'll need to show Val what we found and where we found it." A lump caught in his throat and he swallowed hard.

"Ya gonna be ok, Johnny?" Stu asked, peering under the brim of his hat.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be fine, you just do what I said." The man stood there, looking at him, like he was waitin' for something. "Now," Johnny ordered.

Stu jumped at the command, climbed back into the wagon, and, with a shout and a snap of the reins headed off toward the livery.

With a push of his cane Johnny stepped up onto the boardwalk and stared at the door to the Sheriff's office. He felt the jab of the bottles and pulled them free, without looking, he slipped one into his saddle bag. Drawing in a long slow breath he looked at the second bottle. His fingers wrapped tightly around the glass and he hobbled to the bench in front of the window and eased himself down. Loosening his grip, he stared at the bottle. It felt cool to his touch. A single finger traced the red skull and crossbones then the letters, p-o-i- s-o-n. He felt sick inside. He pressed the cork to his lips and considered pulling it free with his teeth, instead, in a swift motion, he lifted the flap of his saddle bag and carefully placed the bottle inside. Leaning his head back against the glass window he closed his eyes. The pain was far away, muffled, like firing a gun under water. He had no regrets, it was what needed to be done and there was no going back.

Opening his eyes he scanned the streets once more, still empty. He was grateful. It was Sunday after all; most folk had spent the morning in church and were now gathered together for a family meal. Family meal. He breathed in the words, like he was breathing in the smells of the Sunday roast. When would be the next time his family sat down together? Shit, he didn't want to think about it.

Using both the cane and the arm of the bench, Johnny stood, positioning himself in front of the double doors. He turned one knob and pushed the door open with his cane.

"Johnny!" Murdoch sounded pleased as he rose from his cot. His voice quickly changed to concern. "What are you doing here?"

"Scott's missing." His words were hollow, which was exactly how he felt at the moment, empty. He crossed the floor to Val's desk, set down his cane and draped his saddle bag over the back of the sheriff's chair. "You need to get out a here and look for him, Murdoch." He pulled opened the drawer and removed the keys. "You have to find Scott," he said, limping across the floor to the cell door.

"Missing? No, Johnny." Murdoch shook his head with a wry smile. "He's not missing. I'm sure he just went to see Willie." He paused and their eyes locked. "They had some… things to discuss. There's nothing to worry about, but you, you don't belong here. Your leg…"

"Don't worry about me, it's Scott, he's not with Willie." Grabbing the bars he sucked in a breath. His hands, they were sweating. Pulling them back, he quickly looked away then wiped them on his pants. "Sam said, Scott was supposed to come straight back to Lancer."

"Sam, said? Lancer? But, why Johnny?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Why was Sam back at Lancer?" Murdoch reached through the bars and took hold of Johnny's shoulders, squeezing them tightly, forcing their eyes to meet. "Johnny? Are you alright?"

"I told you. Don't worry 'bout me. I'm doing fine, considering Scott's missing, you're in jail and I'm… I'm." He sighed and unlocked the door. "I'm doing just fine." Limping back to Val's desk he wiped the sweat from his palms, once more. He moved his saddlebag from the chair, wrapping his arms around it as he sank into the seat. There was nothing he wanted more than to reach for what was inside, look at it, taste it, feel it. Why hadn't he when he was outside, just a few drops and he would have been alright, for a while. With a groan, he put his injured leg up on the desk and released his grip on the bag, draping it over his thigh.

He looked about the room. "Where the hell is Val?"

Murdoch stepped out of the cell and across the room. He stopped in front of the window. His long shadow stretched the length of the desk. "He should be back any minute now. He had to help Mrs. Mitchell get her son out of the root cellar." Johnny twisted slightly in the chair to look at his father. Murdoch raised a hand and shook his head. "Don't ask." Rubbing his neck he turned to face the window. "Tell me what you know about Scott. Why are you so sure he's not with Willie?"

A sliver of light slipped past his father as he turned. Johnny squinted and moved his hat lower over his eyes. "His horse. It was shot out from under him, just before the turn-off for Spanish Wells. The only sign of Scott was his God damn boot, Murdoch. I think that's enough, don't you?"

His father's only movement was a dip of his head. "Yes, Johnny, I'd say that's enough. What about Teresa. Where is she? There aren't many hands at the ranch right now. The few that work on Sunday have more than a day's work between them."

"She's safe. I sent her to Spanish Wells, with Sam. She'll stay with Willie."

Murdoch nodded.

The door opened and Val lumbered in, covered in dirt. "What in tarnation are you doing here?" With two long strides he was at Johnny's side. He lightly backhanded Johnny's shoulder. "Last time I saw you, you was…"

"I was resting, like I was supposed to, Val. And now, I'm letting Murdoch out a jail, another thing I'm supposed to do." He peered at the lawman from under his hat, knowing what questions were running through his brain. Questions the man wasn't about to get answers to, least not honest ones. "Scott never came home last night."

"Shit," Val breathed out as he slumped onto the corner of his desk.

"I'll go get the horses, Val. I don't think I need to ask your permission to leave."

Val waved his hand in Murdoch's direction but kept his eyes fixed on Johnny. "Go. Git. I'll be right along." He reached out and lifted Johnny's hat from his head as Murdoch walked out the door.

"Damn it, Val!" Johnny yelled, grabbing for his hat.

Val held it beyond his reach and gave him a concerned look. "You don't belong here, Johnny. It spells trouble and you know it."

"Quit wastin' time. You need ta get outta here and find Scott. Stu should be back here any minute, now. He'll show you what we found. It ain't good."

"What do ya think happened?"

"What do you mean, what do I think happened? He shot Scott's horse out from under him and took him, or worse." Johnny regretted the crack in his voice. "He knows damn well, the only way to get what he wants is to hurt someone, someone that matters. So, I'm giving him what he wants, Val, before anyone else can get hurt."

"You're saying this is Grayson?"

"Who the hell else would it be? I told you what he was capable of. You've met the man. What do you think?"

"I suppose it makes sense." He rubbed at his whiskers. "He does like to pull strings, and, by God, he knows what ones to pull."

"He sure does, Val." Johnny's voice softened and his fingers brushed the saddle bag.

"I don't know, Johnny. You're gonna give him what he wants, just like that?" The lawman snapped his fingers. "That don't sound like you."

"It's time, Val. There's a lot of unfinished business between us and I'm not one to run from no fight."

"You weren't in any shape ta fight last night Johnny? What's changed?"

He looked the sheriff straight in his eyes. "Scott's missing, Val. Ain't that enough of a change for you? Cause it sure is for me." He watched the expression on his friend's face and had to look away.

"Yea, yeah, but I can't shake the feelin' there's something else you ain't telling, Johnny. Like what happened after I left."

"I don't remember, Val." Being hard words to say, they barely made it past his lips. He looked back, taking hold of the man's gaze, and forced a smile. "But everything is alright now," he said. "You trust me, don't ya?" Val's stare was making his skin crawl. All he wanted was to be out of this office, away from his friend's prying eyes. Well, that wasn't all he wanted, but it was a start. In one fluid motion, he didn't think he had in him, Johnny picked up his cane and rose from his chair. "You want to know what I ain't telling you, Val? If anything has happened to Scott, if he's injured in any way, I'll kill that God damn, fucking bastard, if I have to beat him to death with this cane." The cane cracked onto the desk causing the lawman to flinch. "You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Johnny, loud and clear," Val snapped back, dropping Johnny's hat on the desk.

"And so did I, Young Man," said John Love from the door to the backroom. "Care to tell me who this God damn, fucking bastard is or should I guess?"

"I don't give a damn what you do. When it's your business I'll tell you. And until then, I'll just keep it to myself."

"Do you have any idea who you are talking to?"

"Yeah, I know who you are, Mr. Love, and I got a pretty good idea what you are, and I sure don't like how it smells."

"In that case, you better hope no one dies in your presence, not even the oldest member of this community. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you."

Stu burst through the front door. "We got the horses all saddled up, Sheriff. Ya coming?"

Johnny picked up his hat and sidled up to Val. "Sorry, about before, I didn't mean…"

"Don't ya think I know that? I know a few other things too, Johnny, and we ain't done yet. Not by a long shot."

"Just find Scott, Val. Then I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Tbc


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Standing in the door of the sheriff's office, Johnny watched the three riders disappear into the afternoon sun. His strength faded with their retreat, and he dropped his shoulder against the doorframe the moment they rounded the bend. He looked at his hands, still steady but moist with sweat, and wished they held what he needed. Damn, had it come to that, already? Squeezing his eyes closed, he wrapped his arms around his waist and curled into the emptiness in his gut. What he needed was Scott - safe, what he needed, was to be free of the pain, what he needed, was clear across the room, in his saddle bag, and he was so- God – damned - tired.

"You Lancers run this town, don't you?"

He didn't react, not on the outside. Inside his stomach knotted. He couldn't believe he'd made such a mistake. Slowly, Johnny straightened, locked his thumbs in his waistband and laced his fingers. How could he have let that happen? He'd forgotten Love was in the room and, here he stood, with his back to the man. Since when did he ever turn his back to a man he didn't like? It wasn't so much the not liking. It was more to the point that he didn't trust Love. That's what made it foolish. Yet, even with the knowledge of his mistake, he didn't have the strength to turn around.

"I thought you'd have slithered back into your hole by now, Mr. Love." Keeping his words soft, he forced Love to step closer, giving him a clearer picture of where the man stood. Eyes still closed, Johnny drew in a long slow breath, wishing away the pain and wishing he was somewhere else. Dios, this was the last place he wanted to be. Alone, with the likes of Love staring at his back. Opening his eyes, he looked toward the setting sun. He wanted to be out there, with Murdoch and Val. No, that wasn't right. Where he wanted to be, really wanted to be, was home, stuffed full from eating too much of Teresa's chocolate cake, sitting on the veranda with his family, watching the sun put on a show. He shook his head. Damn, who would a believed that? Not many he reckoned. "Don't get where you figure we're calling the shots. Seems to me, we've been on the losing end of this string ever since you and your friend, Gray, showed up."

"Mr. Gray is merely an acquaintance. But it doesn't mean I won't help him. I will not allow power and money to sway the law and your family, Mr. Lancer, represents both."

"Do you have any idea what kind of a mare's nest you've gotten yourself mixed up in, Mr. Love?"

"I am fully aware of what I'm doing. I take my job seriously, and I intend to see it through. You don't scare me."

Johnny laughed and he could hear the uneasy shuffle of the man's feet. "Then you're a fool."

"You have no idea what kind of man I am and it pains me that you hold such disdain for a man you've only just met."

"Disdain, huh? Is that what you call it?" Johnny pushed away from the doorframe. Slowly, he turned, fighting to keep control of his icy stare. He knew what it did to men like Love. Judging by the man's backwards steps, Johnny figured he'd done a good job. "Good to know. And here I thought I just didn't like you." He allowed a smile to slip through and watched Love's Adam's apple bobbed up and down nervously.

"Mr. Lancer, the mere fact that you waltzed in here, released your father and told the sheriff what to do, speaks of the one-sided control your family has over everything in this town and the surrounding communities. My recommendation will be to relieve Val Crawford of his authority and appoint a territorial marshal, one who answers to the state of California, not to the likes of rich families such as yours."

This was good. The anger Love's words sparked took over, and he felt a surge of strength. "How the hell do you come up with this shit? I've met plenty a men like you, Love, and that's enough for me to… how did you put it? Disdain you? You, on the other hand, don't know anyone like Val. He's a damn good sheriff and that's something you will never be. You don't know the first thing about being a lawman.

"I know exactly what's expected." He put his hands on his hips and his face started turning eight shades of red. "And, I know what's required to accomplish the task at hand, a clear understanding of the law, a gun, and the strength to avoid money's allure."

"Oh boy, you sure have a twisted idea of things." There was a laugh in his words that revealed his disgust. "You're probably stupid enough to believe money can make everything all right." He turned slightly, still keeping Love in his sights but leaning his back against the frame. "You ever been rich, Mr. Love?"

"I fail to see how my acquisition of wealth would make any difference."

Briefly, Johnny dipped his head, pleased he'd found the man's weakness. "I think it does. As a matter of fact, I think it makes all the difference. You can stop me if I'm wrong, but you won't. Your family didn't have much, and it made you sick inside when you watched the people with money run the show. In fact, you hated it so much; it still eats away at you."

Love grew restless and began to twirl the hairs of his goatee. "I resent that. You think all I am is a bitter man trying to make up for the injustices of his childhood? Well, you're wrong. I am a man of principle, Mr. Lancer." His back straightened and he took a step forward. "My past does not make any of my decisions."

"Then you are a liar and a fool." Love's eyes lost their focus, and he dropped his bearded chin. Johnny knew it was time to make his move, time to cross the room, gather up his things and be on his way. His first step was less than graceful but, luckily, went unnoticed. He drew a deep breath and quickly covered the space between door and desk. When he seated himself on the corner, he released the breath. "You have no idea what a man needs to do to stay alive and keep the peace. It takes more than a gun and a belief. It's got a whole lot to do with balance, walking a fence, something men like you can't figure out. You're too quick to jump down, onto one side or the other." A sigh escaped and, unfortunately, most of his strength went right along with it. His little journey, across the room, cost him and his leg was making damn sure he knew it. "Sometimes, what looks right on the surface, ain't, once ya start sniffing around."

"Are you implying I don't know how to do my job?"

"Imply. That means beat around the bush, right?"

"Yes, something like that."

The pain had truly awakened and it was getting harder and harder to stay focused. He needed to get the hell out of here, he needed... He sighed again, hoping the need would take the same path as his strength, it didn't. Damn. Love was staring at him like he expected an answer. To what? He rubbed at his eyes. Blinking, he stared into the brown eyes of the man before him and remembered. "That's funny, Mr. Love, because I thought I was making myself perfectly clear. I don't think you have a clue what you're doing, and, if asked, I'd put good money on you being killed in your first fracas. How is that for a vote of confidence? Clear enough for you?"

"My job is to make sure the law is enforced, not to enforce the law. I hope that make sense to you."

"It don't." This man was a fucking idiot, not one Grayson would team up with. But one he could use to suit his purpose, whatever that might be. Only thing was, Love had no idea he was being led and that was dangerous. "Think a man needs to step back and figure things out for himself. Do you ever do that Mr. Love? Cause I get the feeling you don't. I get the feeling you pick a road and charge down it without giving any thought to what could be waiting just over the next hill."

"So, if I understand you correctly, you're saying I shouldn't fight for the small dog?"

Johnny sighed, feeling the last of his fight drain away. "You sure are slow to catch on." He picked up his saddle bag and opened the flap, reaching inside his hand came to rest on the cool smooth surface of his… His what? His strength? His weakness? Shit. He withdrew his hand and lifted the bag to his shoulder. "What I'm saying, is you better make damn sure who the small dog is, Mr. Love. Looks can be unreliable." He placed his hat on his head and grabbed hold of his cane. "If you don't mind, I have things to do," he said, hoping the words would work to get his body moving. They didn't. He felt his arms shake when he leaned heavily on his cane to press to his feet. All that was left to do was walk back across the room, out that door and cross the street to the saloon without falling flat on his face.

"You, Mr. Lancer, are not looking all that well. Perhaps you should sit back down."

"Don't need you telling me what I should be doing, Mr. Love. You've got enough to worry about. I can make it." He heard the echo of those words, the same words he'd said to Scott all those years ago. Words Scott never let him forget. Of course that time he was wrong. But not this time, this time he would make it."

~*~*~*~

"Would you shut your durn trap, Stu." God, the man could talk, should a been a preacher the way he carries on. Val was sick of hearing him. Hell he was sick of hearing him before they made it to the edge of town and they were long past that now. He cast a quick glance at Murdoch and could tell he'd heard about all that he could stand too. His lips were stretched tight and the furrow in his brow had formed a while ago. Any minute he expected to see him blow, but he didn't. He just rode in silence, lost in thought for his boys, no doubt.

Shit, all they wanted to do was figure out where the hell Scott was and if he was alright. Then they could focus on Johnny. He took another look at Murdoch and felt pity for the man. He had no idea what lay ahead. If his suspicions were correct, and he had every reason to believe they were, the road was gonna be rough.

The smell of old blood caused his nose to twitch and the ears on his mount to lay back. They were getting close. No words needed saying. Murdoch stiffened in his saddle and pressed his horse to move faster. Val followed suit. Stu lagged behind.

"I think I see something," Stu called out and pointed into the tress.

The words forced Val to turn back and he followed the ranch hand's gaze. "Where? I don't see nothing."

"There, halfway up that hill, I saw a flash of blue. What color was Scott wearing? I saw him at breakfast yesterday, but one day blurs inta another and I can't remember."

"I'm thinking it was blue, can't say I noticed. Wasn't planning on looking for the man." Val searched the trees but saw nothing. "If you think ya saw something then go, before it gets too dark. We don't need you to show us the way, hell all we need to do is follow our noses and we'll find that damn horse. And you told us enough times where the boot was. I think we can manage without you."

Stu nodded. "Meet you back… where? Where should we meet? In town or back at Lancer?"

"Town. Ain't no reason to head back to the ranch tonight. If we don't find him, tomorrow we'll round up some more men."

"If you say so," Stu shouted as he rode off toward the hill.

Val sat in his saddle and watched the man he'd known for more the two years ride off in search of Scott. Had to admit he'd never warmed to him but Johnny liked him well enough. Not sure he was someone you'd want at your back in a fire-fight but he was good for a few laughs and he wasn't afraid of hard work. He'd been there for Johnny today, and for that he was grateful, but… He spurred his horse to catch up with Murdoch. But… it was clear Johnny'd had laudanum. There was no way the man he saw yesterday could have made the trip to town without it. It must have come from Stu because it sure as hell didn't come from Sam. Course that didn't mean nothing. Stu had no way a knowing there was a problem. All Johnny needed to do was ask. But would he ask? To ask meant he'd have to show weakness and that damn sure didn't sound like his friend. Looking ahead he saw Murdoch had dismounted and was circling the dead animal. Damn, when he got back to town he had to be sure Clayton sent someone out to take care of it. The ravine, north of town, kept the death out a sight and, most days, kept the stench away.

"Murdoch. Ya see anything?"

"No, Val, no." He shook his head. "Just blood, too much blood. I see what Stu meant, there is no way of telling if any is Scott's." He looked up. "Where is Stu?"

"He said he saw something, in the trees on that hill yonder. Don't think it was anything but I was glad to be rid of him. The man was getting on my nerves."

"I know what you mean, Val. Now where did they find the boot?"

"Over here, down the embankment." Val dismounted and peered over the edge. "Reckon I'll go down and take a look."

"I'll come too."

"Now, how the hell you gonna climb back up? Ya mind tellin' me that?"

"Damn it, I'm not a feeble old man and I have to do something."

"Ain't sayin' you're old, just saying it's steep. All we need is you pulling your back out on top of everything else." Val called out as he slid down the hill. "You try and think of what's around here. Where could someone take him?" He pulled back branches and peered into the underbrush, talking as he disappeared into the thicket. "Unless there are more people involved in this than…"

"Val?" Murdoch called. "What is it? What did you find?'

"Another boot." He climbed out of the brush. "And his gun, Murdoch."

Darkness was looming, but from where Val stood he could see Murdoch's tall frame slump. "What about Scott?" he asked, the thunder gone from his voice. "Did you find him?"

"No, he's definitely not here. The growth is too thick. If he were here he'd be easy to spot, not that that helps any."

"It doesn't. We're no further along now than we were before."

Val scrambled up the slope and stood beside Murdoch. In the last throws of the day's light he checked Scott's gun to see if he'd gotten off any shots. "None," he said knowing Murdoch was watching his every move. He lifted his head and peered off into the distance. "So, is there a place round here?"

"There's an old shack up in those hills, used to belong to one of my first hands."

"Well there's a start, will you be able to find it?"

"In daylight, yes, but in the dark of night? I'm not sure. The trail must be overgrown by now. Haven't used it for years."

"Anyone else know about the place?"

"No." Murdoch shook his head. "There's no one left that knew the man. Paul would have been the last."

"I'll leave it up to you Murdoch. Do we go tonight, or at first light? If tomorrow, then we're going back to town and having a talk with Grayson."

Tbc


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

With a single minded determination, he stepped from the sheriff's office onto the boardwalk. Never before had the street looked so wide. It stretched out before him like in a dream, the saloon doors standing tall and motionless, calling him out. He looked from those doors to the bench beside him. Shaking his head, he swallowed back the pain and his new found fear with a dry laugh. One step, then another, he kept his sight firmly fixed on those doors. It was a foolish mistake. One that caught him unaware, driving home just how much trouble he was in.

The drop, from boardwalk to street, might as well have been six feet instead of six inches. A jolting pain shot up his leg, silencing the world around him. White hot, it caused his body to stiffen, even his lungs refused to draw in air. Blackness curled in, before he crumpled, like a blacksmith's bellows, to the boardwalk. A roaring fire baked him from within. The resulting sweat caused him to shiver. And yet, through this agony one clear thought formed in his head. Laudanum.

As quickly as the world silenced, it rushed back in on him. His ears filled with a thunderous roar. He struggled to load his lungs with air, swallowing mouthfuls, not one doing a damn bit of good. He felt like he was being choked. Hands moved with a single purpose. Fingers found the bottle. Teeth plucked the cork and he spit it to the ground. Between greedy gasps for breath, the vile liquid spilled onto his tongue. Never had it tasted so sweet, never had the need been so strong. Never, never, never.

He slumped against the wooden support beam. Each explosion of pain caused him to suck in snatches of air, through his nose. His tongue slipped over his lips, searching for the last remaining bitter drops. His heart beat violently in his chest as he held on to each and every breath. Unwilling to release even one whisper of air, for fear he'd never get enough back. His lungs burned as they filled and refused any more, sending the spent breaths out with a groan. The heat that had ravaged his body began to fade away, leaving behind a deathly chill where his shirt clung to his moistened skin. Everything started to slow down, and he waited, waited for the pain to fade into the background, waited for the roar in his ears to silence and waited to feel human again. Damn, human, two out a three would have to do.

~*~*~*~

There was nothing to tell him where he was other than a shack, in the woods. And by the look of things it wasn't a shack many people knew existed. It was long past its best day, if it ever had a best day. Its windows were shuttered, allowing in only splinters of waning daylight. The roof, through gaping holes, allowed in far more. Specks of dust drifted through rippling streams of light on their journey to new destinations.

All in all, it wasn't much. But the sight filled Scott with fleeting joy, for it meant he had achieved a small victory. He'd removed the blindfold. In the grand scheme of things, it paled in comparison to being able to kneel. That was the first and, by far, the greater victory. Nevertheless, it was a victory, especially when the cloth covering his eyes dropped to the floor. He'd blinked repeatedly, until he grew accustomed to the brilliant light, an exaggeration perhaps, but brilliant by comparison.

Once his eyes adjusted, he took in his sparse surroundings. The toppled chair was all it held for furniture. There was no table, no bed, at least not a proper bed. A torn and, most likely, nibbled mattress laid doubled over to one side. There was a stove in the corner and next to it, piled in a haphazard manner, were the remnants of what once had been furniture.

Scott let out a laugh when he saw his favorite thing in the room. A bucket. A bucket, filled to the brim with water. Who knew, he could move so fast, tied up the way he was? His knees skittered across the floor and he greedily slopped the water from the bucket. Least they didn't want him dying of thirst, starvation appeared to be another matter entirely. Maybe they didn't plan on him being here that long.

The water revived him. The dimming light drained the energy away. A day had come and gone. His family was, no doubt, sick with worry. He needed to get out of here and all he'd managed to do was get to his knees and remove his blindfold. Not nearly enough. By daybreak, he would be free. That was a promise. But then what? He had no idea where he was, had no weapon and no boots. The last vestiges of light vanished, leaving him in complete darkness, once again. He leaned back and began working on the knots at his feet. Repeating his promise, "By daybreak, I will be free".

Hopes rose then fell with the cadence of an approaching horse. He quickly realized there was little chance of it belonging to anyone other than his captor. Footsteps reached the front porch, one - two, getting closer to the door. Sounds of a second rider halted the steps. "What the hell are you doing here?" The response - silence. "I asked you a question?" He recognized this voice. It belonged to Stu. Had he found him? Would he be saved? There was still no response from the second person. At least not one Scott could hear. What he heard was the jingle of spurs, as the rider planted his feet on the ground. Thoughts immediately turned to Johnny. No, the elation that his brother was fine and had discovered where he was made no sense. Johnny was anything but fine.

~*~*~*~

Darkness had taken hold and Murdoch wished the look of disbelief he threw at Val hadn't been wasted. "My son is out there." He waved his hand in the air. "And you want to go back to town?" The disgust in his voice was not wasted. "What kind of thinking is that?" He moved to his horse and mounted up. "I'm not going back. Not until I find Scott. You can do what you want. I'll find that trail and that shack. If he's there, I'll bring him home, safe." That time it was desperation that marked his words, and it unsettled him.

Dipping his head, Val gathered up his reins. "Then, we're going together." He put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle. "If you thought for one God damn minute that I was gonna decide which son needed you most then you'd be plain loco. Shit, only a father can make a decision like that. These are your sons, and they both need help."

"I understand and I'm sorry." Leather creaked beneath him, as he sat back, and he encouraged his horse to move forward. "There are two of us, Val. You can go back, question Grayson and keep Johnny from…"

A distressed laugh echoed off the hills. "…keep Johnny from what? We both know you can't keep Johnny from doing anything he's made up his mind to do."

Murdoch turned his horse around and headed back in the direction they came. "If memory serves me, the trail started around this bend, you can ride with me until I turn off the main road."

"Nope, that can't be allowed. Already got one Lancer down, I'll be damned if we make it two." Val spoke as he circled in behind Murdoch.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Murdoch reined in even with the sheriff. "Two men are down, Val. Don't you think Johnny would be here, if he could? Between the pain he is in with that damned broken leg and the memories Grayson's stirred up, Johnny's vulnerable. He should be home, resting in bed, not roaming the town, alone. There's no telling what seeing Grayson will do to him. But, by the same token, if we were to show up without Scott…" The catch in his voice caught him off-guard. He cleared his throat in response. Without Scott. He pushed the thought away and peered into the darkness. "I think this is it, where the trail begins. From what I can see, it doesn't appear to be as bad as I expected." He hoped he sounded confident, but could feel Val's vigilant stare. "I'll catch up with Stu," he continued. "And together, we'll find Scott. You, go. Johnny needs one of us."

"That may be, but it ain't gonna happen. If I was to show up alone, without you or Scott, that son of yours just might shoot me."

A weak smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "You just might be right." Val's words brought deep relief. If his sons couldn't ride by his side, this man, this good man, was the next best thing. Guiding his horse off the road and into the tall grass, Murdoch moved toward the hill. "I think we all know Grayson is after Johnny. So tell me, why, Scott? Why take Scott?"

"You know the man better than I do, Murdoch."

"Know him? No, I don't know him. I know what he's done. I know the pain he's caused, but that's it. Do you realize, he has tried to lay ruin to my life for over twenty years, and I only learned his name a year ago?"

"Seems to me, when it comes right down to it, he don't want things, and he ain't after money. He gets his thrills out a seeing you folk suffer. Pity, I sort a liked him, always figured myself a descent judge a people. But, he sure had me hoodwinked."

"I wouldn't let it bother you, Val, I get the impression he's very good at that."

"Yeah, well it don't make me happy. I think he wanted Johnny in town and he sure as hell figured out how to do it. Can't think of a better way to force an outcome, other than using you or Scott. Can you?"

"Val? Are we doing the right thing? Going after Scott? Or are we doing exactly what Grayson wants us to do?"

Murdoch heard Val's uneasy shift in his saddle. "The thought has crossed my mind. But, as you said, we need to find Scott. It's my way a thinking, if we was to return empty handed, there's no telling what it would push Johnny to do. And if Scott is bad hurt, or worse, then Grayson better start praying."

"Then we all better start praying, Val. We have to find Scott. We have to find him safe and alive. That's all there is to it. It's the only way to help both my boys, I have to believe that." Murdoch looked to the horizon and saw the rising moon. It was nearly full and glowed orange as it moved through a band of clouds. "Are we actually going to catch a break tonight or is that a sign of foreboding?"

"Could be either one, but me, I'm hoping on that break."

The two men wound their way up the trail in the darkness. When Murdoch spoke again he tried to bury the fear that had frozen his heart but it wasn't possible. "Why is he doing this? He's caused so much hurt, enough to last more than a lifetime, and yet he continues. Why does he need more? Why?"

"Some men are evil, Murdoch. Can't be explained, just need to be dealt with."

"Doesn't make it any easier. Does it, Val?"

"No, Sir. It sure as hell doesn't."

Small trickles of doubt were beginning to wear away on Murdoch's belief. He needed something, something to hang on to.

"You do realize," Val broke into his reverie. "There ain't no need to take a dead man's boots or his gun, unless the man doing the taking wants them. And that sure ain't the case we got here."

"Makes sense. May not be much to pin our hopes on, but I'll take it." There was that tug of a smile again. "Thank you, Val."

At that precise moment, the moon broke free from a few bands of clouds and managed to cast its light through the sparse covering of new leaves. "Well, that sure is nice," muttered Val. "Hope it holds out as we move up this hill. Your old hand sure liked his privacy."

"That he did, it cost him though." Murdoch ducked to avoid a low hanging branch. "The trail narrows up ahead and one night, not long after Johnny was born, McCall helped me acquire a prize bull for next to nothing. That bull was the start of the herd we have today. I don't need to tell you, we knocked back more than a few, celebrating our good fortune. McCall never made it home, Paul and I found both him and his horse late the next day, must have miscalculated the trail. Broke his neck."

Silence filled the gap between sheriff and father, as they picked their way carefully along the trail. That silence was shredded by the crack of rifle fire.

~*~*~*~

He stood at the bar, hell that was being generous, the bar held him up. If someone lit fire to it, he'd go up in flames 'cause there was no God damn way he could walk away. He'd made it this far and it was as far as he was going, for a while. Elbows were the only thing holding him up. Even his good leg would fall out from under him if given the chance. He pressed his thumbs to his eyeballs, not sure what he wanted most. Death, sleep, a drink, or a chair. The memory of walking across the street and through the doors was lost to the never ending pain in his leg. But it wouldn't be long now. Just give it a little time and that pain would fade away like the color in his favorite red shirt. He snorted. Maybe it was working all ready.

"Hey, Johnny." Tom's soft voice was close by. It was a voice that didn't match the man's bulky frame. "If any man looked like he needed a drink, it would be you." The thud of a glass meeting the wood of the bar was followed by the squeak and pop of a cork. "Here," he said, sliding the glass across the bar until it was right under his nose. The unmistakable smell of tequila was both inviting and sickening. Lifting his head he ran a hand down his face before nodding his thanks.

"Lagrimas de la agave," he said raising the glass to his lips. Noticing the questioning stare of the bartender he repeated, "tears of the agave," and swallowed the copper liquid. "I look so bad you brought out the good stuff?"

"Ya could say that." Tom poured another glass.

"I need a room, Tom, gonna be staying a few days. That one you got on the first floor will do just fine."

"Anything for you, Johnny, you know that, but that room's taken."

He slammed back his second shot and, with equal fury, the glass found its way back to the stained wood. "I don't give a damn if you got your abuela in that room, Tom." He reached across the bar and gathered up the man's collar with one hand. "Have I made myself clear?"

Tom's eyes grew wide as silver cartwheels and nodding his head he swallowed hard. "Y-Yes," he finally spit out. "I, I, I understand, only hope Mr. Gra…"

"It's all right, Tom. I'll have Remy remove our things the moment he returns."

The hand that landed on his shoulder was gentle. The voice flooded his memory, and, like the tequila, stirred feelings of both comfort and pain.

"We should get you into that room before someone else sees you like this." He spoke softly, into Johnny's ear. "Your precious reputation will be shot to hell." Grayson's hand took hold of his arm and began to pull him away from the bar. "I've missed you, John. I've missed you so very much."

"I sure as hell, ain't missed you. Not for one fucking second." Johnny tried to pull his arm away but was not steady enough on his feet and began to sway. He grabbed hold of the bar and looked about the saloon for the nearest seat. His head was feeling thick and heavy, a chair quickly becoming a necessity.

"Now, John, I did not teach you to use such language it will not be tolerated in my presence." His grip remained firm. "You're not making this easy."

"Don't need your help." He pulled away once more and after a few unsteady steps dropped into a waiting chair.

Grayson laughed. "We do make quite a sight, both of us with our canes. If you felt better I have no doubt you'd see the humor in this. We are very much alike, you and I, though with the foolish thoughts Murdoch has put in your head, you don't see it."

"I'm nothing like you. You make me want to puke."

"My dear, John, that's not me, that's the little gift I left for you. Did you enjoy it? I think you did. But you may have overindulged there in the street. What did you do, finish that little bottle? Tsk, tsk, you should know better than that."

Rage shot Johnny from his seat and he wrapped his fingers around Grayson's neck. The chair tumbled back and hit the floor with a clatter, silencing the few patrons in the saloon. "I'll kill you, Grayson. The first chance I get, I'll fucking kill you."

Tbc


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Using her apron to protect her hand from the heat, Willie carried the coffee pot to a table by the front window. She poured two cups, set the pot down, and ran her hands over her stomach, a feeble attempt to smooth the wrinkles from her apron. This morning, she simply had not felt up to ironing it, and now, with the day over, she wondered why she'd bothered putting it on in the first place. Wearily, she sank into a chair and peered out the window into the darkness. She knew very well why. Because it was how she lived her life, doing everything that was expected. The fact that her world was falling apart made no difference.

It was Sunday and that meant ranches ran on a lick and a promise, with a fraction of the work crew. From midday to past sunset Willie's Cafe was loud and crowded, then, before they got too comfortable, the men would saunter down the street to one of the two Spanish Wells saloons, avoiding their usual haunts in Green River.

There was some measure of satisfaction to be found in doing what was expected, and today that came from her macaroni and cheese. It was a recipe passed on by her mother-in-law, supposedly handed down from Thomas Jefferson, himself. One taste, put smiles on the faces of the men trying it for the first time. And the others? They told of how it reminded them of home. This admission was usually accompanied by some oft-repeated tale of love and family. Whatever the reason, it prompted Willie to climb out of bed even though, this morning, it was the hardest it had ever been.

Of course, upon waking, she had no idea how bad this day would get. Teresa's midday arrival brought news, devastating news, of Scott's disappearance, adding worry to her aching heart and queasy stomach. It did put a stop to her frequent, yet vain, searches out the window for a familiar rider. What it didn't stop, was her wishing that Scott would walk right through that front door or her worry that he couldn't. The sorrow she carried was suffocating, making simple chores, like ironing an apron, overwhelming.

It started the moment Scott closed the door yesterday morning and had grown tenfold. What she'd wanted, then and now, was him to say it didn't matter, that nothing mattered, except how much they loved each other. Of course there was one thing that mattered more now, and that was his safe return. She would forfeit everything just to know he was all right.

"You really should eat something." Teresa said as she placed a plate of shortbread between the cups of coffee.

All Willie could muster was a half-hearted smile and a shake of her head as she watched Teresa sit down across from her.

"I wish we'd get some news," Teresa continued. Her voice cracked slightly. "But I would guess they'd go to Green River first, to tell Johnny. Unless they needed S…" Teresa's look of anguish was unsettling. Quickly, she shifted her gaze to the plate, grabbed a cookie and busied herself nibbling a corner.

Turning to face the darkened window, Willie saw her reflection peering back from the glass. Her face wore the same look of distress as Teresa's. All day they'd kept their hands busy, the key to keeping one's mind off a problem. Now all was quiet, every dish had been put away, the last pan scrubbed and dried. The floor was swept and the front windows washed. There was nothing left to do except sit and wait and fret.

The day's smiles were long gone, mere decorations for the customers. Not once did they rise from within. The men looked for those smiles, and Willie was not in the habit of letting them down, since all it took was a turn of the lip and a good meal. She had let one man down though, and it was the one man that mattered most. Time and time again, she'd tried to convince herself it had been the right thing to do. But, it sure wasn't feeling right at this precise moment.

Staring into her cup of coffee, Willie watched the steam as it twisted and curled - then vanish, exactly like Scott. She held her fingers in its warmth. The feeling of Teresa's stare, from across the table, pierced her thoughts. She lifted her eyes. "I'm not used to this. Just how long are we supposed to wait around for some kind of word?"

"You never get used to this, even when you and Scott are married, you'll never get used to this."

She drew a sharp breath. "Where on earth did you get the idea we were going to wed?"

"Oh, I just assumed. I mean, look at the two of you. I don't think I've ever seen two people more in love." Her face took on a dreamy quality. "It's like out of a book."

Willie was unable to control the bitterness in her tone. "Then you didn't see Scott after he left here yesterday morning." The statement brought an abrupt change to her friend's expression, now a questioning stare. "He did ask me to marry him, and I said, no. I hurt him, Teresa, I hurt him deeply." The room started to glisten through the tears welling in her eyes. "I regret the pain, but I believed it was best. Judging by his reaction, I think I was right, but…" She watched Teresa's hand move to cover hers. The thought of looking into her friend's eyes and seeing pity was too much to bear. "…it hurts me too, and now, with him missing…" Her tears overflowed, rolling down her face, landing onto the red checkered cloth. She forced a laugh. "Would you look at me? Crying, as if tears were worth their salt." She pulled her hand back and wiped the wet from her cheeks. With a deep breath, she straightened and offered a smile. "I need to do something." She stood, as tall as her small stature would allow, and reached around her back to undo the apron's strings. "I'm going to Green River." She said as she draped the apron over the back of the chair.

"Oh, I'm not so sure that is a good idea." Teresa stood, shaking her head. "I mean, no. That is definitely not a good idea. Our place is here, out of the way. Johnny didn't want me at Lancer, and he doesn't want me in Green River. I think the same would go for you as well. We need to wait here, right here."

"I can't. I can't wait for the dust to settle. The only clue we'll get is if someone comes looking for Sam, if they'll even need Sam…" The completion of that thought caused her stomach to churn. What if they didn't need Sam and not for the right reasons? All afternoon she'd clung to the belief that Scott would be okay, a few bumps or a few bruises, but okay. He was always okay. But, what if that was a lie? What if Scott was dead or dying? She couldn't bear their last memory to be one of sorrow. Nervously, she moved about the room, grabbing her purse from the closet beneath the stairs. Opening the cash drawer, she removed some money and stuffed it in her small drawstring bag. "I'll get a room at the hotel. You can stay here or come with me, the choice is yours."

Teresa stepped in her path as she made her way to the coat rack. "Stop."

"I need to be there, Teresa. I need to know the minute they know. I need to be there to tell him…"

Hands tenderly pulled her in for a hug, a hug which she did not return. "He knows, Willie," Teresa whispered. "For whatever reason you said no, he understands. And you will have the chance to discuss it." Teresa pushed herself away and gave Willie's shoulders a squeeze. "Besides, if we stay put, they'll be able to find us. And that is important. Believe me, the last place you want to be, is Green River, as if Scott's disappearance weren't enough, there is more, going on. There's a man, I don't know the whole story but, this is Johnny's fight."

"Scott told me about him, this man, Grayson. He's despicable, and has profoundly affected each of them over the years. This goes beyond Johnny and he has no right to lay claim. Scott said, if not for this man, all their lives could have been different." She removed Teresa's fingers from her shoulders, separating herself from the embrace and stepped back. "Murdoch would have had the woman he loved, Johnny would have never left and maybe, just maybe, Scott's grandfather would have allowed him to grow up with his brother. This may be Maria's gambler, the one everyone speaks of in whispers even after all these years, but it affects all of us, and I intend to do my part, no matter how insignificant." She studied Teresa's face. "You knew? You knew who this man was?"

Teresa turned and walked toward the window, she answered before turning back. "Yes, I knew exactly who he was. Several months ago, Johnny told me about him. He said I had a right to know, since I told him the truth in the first place. So, when I heard the name, I knew what it meant, I knew we were in for a fight."

"There's certainly a lot of hate there, if it has gone on for all these years."

"I know he hated Murdoch. And it was his hatred that fed Johnny's. He told him lies, terrible lies, lies that, to a young boy, were believable. Especially after the few details his mother revealed." Teresa lowered her voice to a whisper and stepped closer. "I think he expected Johnny to kill Murdoch."

"So it's not above Grayson to have others do his dirty work for him?"

"Above him? Goodness, No. That is him, in a nutshell," Teresa agreed.

"Maybe he's here to finish the job he expected Johnny to complete. Do you know why? Why he hates Murdoch?"

"That I had to piece together. Johnny never said, exactly. I believe he hated Murdoch for stealing Maria's heart, that she never loved anyone else, and it made him crazy. When I told Johnny, he told me I read too much." A small smile brightened her face for a moment. "He's right, or course, but it could still be true."

"So, is it Murdoch, he's after? And if so, why now? Why wait all these years? It doesn't make any sense."

"I've been thinking about that myself. It may be farfetched, but could have something to do with Remy's mother. Remy told us she died, but he didn't say how or when. If we knew that, it might give us some clues."

"Clues? Johnny's right." Willie felt a laugh bubble up from within. For the first time, all day, the weight she'd carried lightened slightly. "You do read too much."

Teresa put her hands on her hips. "That may be, but if it helps us figure things out then it's time well spent."

"If you know so much, then why did Johnny go into town? I know, he thinks it is his fight, but he's not a foolish man. He has no business moving around with his injury. How in earth is he dealing with the pain? And to make matters worse, with everyone looking for Scott, I'm sure he's alone."

"I suppose he thought they took Scott to force him into town, that if he showed, Scott would be let go," Teresa said.

"That is all the more reason to go to Green River."

"You still don't belong there. You're not making sense."

"Maybe not, but I'll tell you what makes less sense, and that's leaving Johnny alone with that man. I think we both know Johnny well enough, that if he's offered Scott's freedom, there is nothing he wouldn't do."

A soft knock at the front door sent Willie running across the floor. Her heart in her throat, she swiftly unlocked the door and flung it wide open. She felt Teresa's presence, press against her back, her eyes peering over her shoulder.

~*~*~*~

The drug's warmth oozed over him like mud, dragging away everything in its path, his strength, his hate and most importantly, his pain. His grip around Grayson's throat softened. Whiskers pricked his ear followed by Tom's soft voice. "Johnny, let him go." A huge bear-like arm wrapped his chest. Blinking, he fought to keep things in focus. All he managed to do was slow things down. Tom's voice waded through the mud again, the voice that didn't match this giant of a man. "You're gonna get yourself inta trouble if you ain't careful, Johnny. Let go, and sit down before you do something you'll regret."

From the corner of his eye, he looked at the bartender. "Might regret it later but it sure would feel good now." Releasing his grip, he allowed himself to be pressed into a waiting chair. Dios, he felt like he'd just broke a week's worth a horses.

"I'll get ya some water Johnny. Stay put, ya hear?"

"Yea, I hear you, Tom." It may have been Tom he was talking to, but it was Grayson he was watching. Watching as his hand rubbed at the marks on his neck, watching as a sick smile spread across his face. Watching as he bent at the waist to pick up a chair that had toppled to the floor.

"John, it's not like you to lose control. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?" Once more Grayson reached down. Lifting Johnny's injured leg; he gently placed it on the chair. "You are still good with a gun, I hope," he asked tugging on the cuffs of his shirt. It was an old habit, one Johnny had watched many times before. "It would be both a pity and a hazard to allow that skill to slip away."

Johnny slid low in his chair, grateful for the armrests. One wrong move, and he figured he'd hit the floor, not looking too slick in the process. The picture in his head made him laugh.

"Ignoring me? You, of all people, know that never works, John."

He felt like he'd been poured into his chair, no, that wasn't quite right. It was that mud thing again, he coated the chair. Each bounce of Tom's footsteps traveled across the floor, up this chair and through him. Dios, he'd forgotten how good he could feel, how comfortable his skin fit.

Closing his eyes, he drew in a long slow breath sensing the movement of every muscle, feeling Tom's steps getting closer and knowing Grayson just stood there looking at him, waiting.

With water in hand Tom returned to the table. Johnny opened his eyes and took the glass, drinking it down quickly, he was anxious to rid himself of the sour taste that had settled in his mouth. Water did little to wash it away. Passing the empty glass back to the waiting man, he nodded. "Thanks, I'm good now."

Johnny felt Tom's eyes on him as he stood motionless for a moment, finally he turned away. "Won't be far if ya need me, Johnny."

"Okay, Tom," Johnny replied with a wave of his hand, eyes still fixed on Grayson.

The laudanum made him comfortable, very comfortable, and he had no plans to move or go anywhere. Hell, he couldn't if he wanted to, being a part of the chair like he was. Besides, there was work to do. He needed answers and it was time to get them before his eyeballs begged for darkness or his brain started screaming for more.

Both elbows leaned heavily on the arms of the chair, and he laced his fingers over his stomach. Pressing his thumbs together, he looked at them carefully, studied them, trying to remember that one important question. The question he needed to ask, the question that brought him here in the first place.

"I know you're upset with me, son. Especially after what happened to your brother."

That was it. "Scott! What have you done with Scott?"

"Now, that is actually a very funny story. I'm sure you'll enjoy hearing it," he said as he pulled up a chair.

"Doubt it."

"You used to have a sinful sense of humor, don't tell me your father has managed to strangle that from you."

"Get to the point, where is Scott?"

"He's safe, at least he should be. None of this seemed familiar to you? I'm so disappointed." He pressed a hand to his chest trying to look hurt. Johnny looked at him, searching his memory for something, anything. Grayson continued. "Most likely, he's on his way back as we speak. It may take him a while, being on foot and without boots, but I have every confidence he'll make it. You must remember a similar situation, with that old skinflint, what was his name? Streeter? You had another name for him, though. You used to call him…"

"I called him Balls, 'cause of where he kept his money sack."

"Ah, yes, if I recall, that didn't stop you from reaching for it when the time came, now did it, son."

"Nope, my hands had been in dirtier places."

"True, very true." The older man laughed and the sound caught Johnny by surprise.

"I forgot that about you. Your laugh always made things hurt less." He willed the smile from his face, upset it had found its way there in the first place and looked back to his thumbs. "Damn you. I want to hate you. I have every reason to hate you. Why can't I?"

Grayson reached out and put his hand over Johnny's, stilling his thumbs. With just one look he quickly pulled it away. "We've shared a lot over the years, son, laughed a lot. I won't deny I've made some mistakes, huge mistakes, but I did love you. As I said before, we're a lot alike, you and I. And just like you now, I wanted to hate you then. You were his spawn, the product of their love and I hated that. Yet, when I looked at you, I saw her." His voice softened. "I loved her."

"You sure had a funny way a showing it. You never spoke like you loved her. You were never there to take care of her. Hell, she needed Socorro to protect us from you and the men you sent. What would it have done to her if she'd learned Socorro worked for you all along?"

"I told you I made mistakes." His voice hardened. "Until I met Rebecca, I didn't know. I didn't know that what I was feeling was love, didn't know how to show it. She opened my eyes. She was a remarkable woman."

"And yet, you repay her by ruining her children? Have you done to them what you did to me?"

"No, son, I've learned my lesson. That was an unfortunate decision. One made long before my arrival that night and later regretted. You were such an unruly child, and at the time, it was only hate that I held in my heart for you. In fact, your fate was sealed within the first ten minutes. By the time the sun rose the next day, you were exactly what I wanted you to be."

"Learned your lesson? Are you trying to make me sick?" A surge of strength sent his fist crashing to the table, and he leaned forward. His words squeezed through clenched teeth. "Then tell me, why am I sitting here with your little gift clawing at my insides? Why is my brother getting treated like one of our dupes and why do I suddenly feel sorry for both of that woman's kids?" He relaxed and leaned back, his strength lost to the call of the drug. "Never mind, I don't want to know." He waved his hand dismissively. "This isn't the only table in the place. I suggest you go find yourself an empty one and leave me alone."

"Now that is just poor manners, young man. It seems to me, I tanned your backside more than once teaching you better ones."

A chill forced his eyes closed, and he gripped the arms of the chair as every muscle tensed. Damn, not yet, not this soon. How long had it been? Only a few hours? He looked as his hands, they were damp, and he ran them up and down the legs of his pants. Then, as suddenly as it came, it was gone. Warmth calmed him. His eyes met Grayson's as he stood there, looking at him waiting, exactly as he was when they started this dance. Had their conversation even taken place? It must have, he wasn't that messed up, was he?"

"You're not looking so good, son. Perhaps you should rest. We can continue our conversation in the morning."

"No, I want to know why you're here, what you want?"

"That, John is a very long story. One I don't believe you are up to hearing. Suffice it to say, I am here to ask for a favor. One I hope you are capable of granting."

"Why would I possibly do you a favor? I owe you nothing. "

"Because, John, a man knows when he's coming to the end of his time. And mine is near. I can feel it. You wouldn't deny a dying man his last wish, would you?"

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

_When we last saw Scott…_

_Hopes rose then fell with the cadence of an approaching horse. He quickly realized there was little chance of it belonging to anyone other than his captor. Footsteps reached the front porch, one - two, getting closer to the door. Sounds of a second rider halted the steps. "What the hell are you doing here?" The response - silence. "I asked you a question?" He recognized this voice. It belonged to Stu. Had he found him? Would he be saved? There was still no response from the second person. At least not one Scott could hear. What he heard was the jingle of spurs, as the rider planted his feet on the ground. Thoughts immediately turned to Johnny. No, the elation that his brother was fine and had discovered where he was made no sense. Johnny was anything but fine. _

Chapter 26

Little progress had been made toward freedom leaving the prospect of escape highly unlikely, especially with the advent of two riders. It had been at least one full day since his horse was shot out from under him. Scott's legs had grown numb; his shoulders ached.

He maneuvered his way across the floor making full use of his determination and using little in the way of grace. Caution and fear were outweighed by his desire to see the visitors. Through the cracks and splits in the boarded window he could see a portion of the clearing. That, in combination with the opalescent glow from the low hanging moon, allowed him to make out what was happening beyond the door. The identity of one man was known and every fiber within wanted to believe Stu had arrived to set him free. But, the more he took in, the more doubtful that became. There was too much familiarity between these men.

Stu stood with one foot resting on the front step. There was no sign of the second man with the jingle bob spurs, an educated guess told him he was around the side of the shack.

"Thought I told you I could handle things. Needed help last night, is all." Stu shook his head and laughed. "That there was some mighty fine shooting. And in the dark. Didn't think you had it in ya."

Scott felt every ounce of hope vanish with his exhale. There would be no rescue from Stu.

Silence followed Stu's words. He figured the second man was talking, because Stu tromped off the porch and moved in the expected direction. His movements brought him directly in front of the window and he peered into the shadows. "Jeez, you don't pay attention much, do you? I done my job, brung

Johnny to town this afternoon, just like I was supposed to." Scott watched, his belly filling with disgust as Stu straightened and puffed out his chest. "Gave him them two bottles of laudanum and hit damn near every bump I could. Pretty sure he had some 'fore we even made town. And I know'd he drank from that bottle I give him. I been 'round that shit enough ta know the look. My guess is, by now, he should be about as fucked up as a man can be and still stand."

Scott sucked in a breath. The words stung. From the beginning, he was certain Grayson was the real threat. Now, he knew he'd been wrong. As bad as Grayson was, he didn't hold a candle to the real enemy. Johnny's voice had thinned when he revealed his history with laudanum, a tenor Scott didn't recognize. At the time he thought it was his hate for Grayson or the concern over meeting up with him again after all these years. Then Johnny swayed him into thinking it was fear, fear of what the man had planned and how it would hurt the people Johnny loved. Perhaps Johnny had even managed to convinced himself. But now it was clear, none of those were the root of this. It was not the fear or the hate or the concern that marked his brother's voice. It was panic, pure, well disguised panic, unrecognizable in a man with so much control. It was the drug that terrified his brother.

Stu took two more steps, past the window. "Still don't get why you're here. You afraid I won't do this right? How the hell hard can letting a man go be? Shit, it's what he wants." He took another step forward and was lost to the moon's long shadows. "Now wait a minute, don't go tellin' me things have gone and changed. We still sendin' him on his way, right? Cause if not, I didn't sign up for no killing."

Straining his ears, Scott was desperate to hear something, anything. His fate could very well be determined at this moment. Nothing. Spurs jingled once more, this time moving away from the shack, followed by a creak and a thump of a door, maybe.

"You sure think different. What we need a jug a that for? Stu asked. This lantern's got plenty. Hell, with this moon, we don't even need light. All we gotta do is open the God damn door and cut him loose. Ain't like he's gonna argue."

A wash of light brightened the corner of the shack. It cascaded to the ground forming an ever expanding pool as it moved closer. "Hey," Stu snapped. "I earned my money and there ain't nothing to keep me here. I plan on high tailing out a here the second we're done. When this all plays out, there ain't no way I'm looking Johnny in the eyes. Not after he finds out what I done. Hell, I probably signed my own death warrant. Not one of them Lancer's would think twice before putting a bullet in me."

Stu fell silent, listening perhaps. Not his strongest suit, or had that been a lie as well. Discovering he was a part of all this was a deep wound. Both brothers considered him a friend. Johnny more so, of late, since Willie was cutting into their time. This wouldn't be news his brother would take lightly. He prided himself on his ability to read people. Scott leaned into the window, closing his eyes for a heartbeat. After what he'd heard, being deceived was going to be the least of Johnny's problems. There was one bit of good news hidden in Stu's words. It seemed, all three Lancers would want to see him dead. That meant all three Lancers would still be alive when, as Stu put it, this all played out.

Lifting his head he watched the glow of a lantern work its way closer to the door. The door banged open and the brilliant light forced his eyes to squeeze shut. Once he opened them all he could see was the glint of a large knife. "You want out a here, Scott.?"

"You know I do, Stu." There wasn't much else to say to this man, his acts of betrayal were beyond words.

"Now don't be tryin' anything stupid. We're gonna let you walk outta here. And if you don't get yourself turned around you should make it to town in time for lunch. How's that sound?"

Still on his knees, Scott struggled to straighten as best he could. "Just great, Stu, you're too kind."

Light, flickering from the lantern, exaggerated Stu's features, giving the moment a touch of the macabre. The unexpected jolt of his backhand sent Scott crashing to the floor. "I got help right outside that door." He sneered. "And I gotta tell you, if it were up ta them you'd be getting a bullet instead of a walk."

"What, no horse?"

Scott curled into the pain of Stu's swift response. A solid kick to the gut left him gasping to refill his lungs and pushing back a wave of nausea. Without a word, Stu cut the ropes. Hands finally free, Scott wrapped them tightly around his acing belly, regretting his words. Snide remarks offered only fleeting pleasure, what he needed was to get to Johnny and his father. They needed to know he was alright. And they were giving him that, albeit, with no horse and undoubtedly, no boots. His vow to be free by daybreak would, at least, become a reality.

Pushing himself upright, his injured leg throbbed and his shoulders and wrists ached. It was a good thing he wouldn't have to run. That would be impossible. Standing was a major accomplishment. It took several tries to get his feet underneath him. By the time he did, the knife had been slipped back into its sheath, and he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Sorry, Scott, just makin' sure you listen," Stu said, waving the gun back and forth in the direction of the door. "I really do like you folk, and it pains me fierce to see you all suffer, but this job come along long before I knew ya and well, the money was a damn site better'n what you was paying." He moved behind Scott and jammed the gun in his back. "Now remember, my friend out there, would just a soon see you dead. Me? I'm a bit more soft-hearted, if ya know what I mean."

With his first steps Scott injured leg collapsed, almost sending him back to the floor. He grabbed hold of the door latch to keep himself up. It did little good, the door pulled away from the frame with a crack. Stu grabbed hold of his elbow, preventing the fall. His action took Scott by surprise.

"I told you I was sorry, but I do have a job to do. You, of all people, understand the value of a job well done, you spouted it often enough."

Once out the door his eyes scanned the darkness, searching for Stu's partner. Two horses were hitched to the rail. One rifle scabbard was empty. Nothing else could be seen. There was a tension in the air, and he felt a second pair of eyes watching him. He quickly determined it was in his best interest to follow Stu's instructions.

"You remember this place, Scott? We come across it a while back, just head across the ridge then straight down. You'll be in Green River in time for the show. Don't be late now 'cause, believe me, ya sure don't want to miss a thing."

"Show? What show, Stu? What's going on?"

"I done said all I can. Now git."

Out of the shadows the jingle of spurs moved closer, followed by the cock of a rifle.

"I ain't jokin', Scott. Go!"

Scott raised his hands. "I'm going. I'm going." He turned and limped into the trees. Keeping his back to them, he stopped. "I couldn't get you to reconsider the boots."

The blast of a riffle shattered the quiet, a rustle of wings followed in its wake.

****

Val felt his heart quicken at the sound of the rifle and he looked at Murdoch. The older man's eyes were wide and questioning, but he said nothing. Each man pushed their mounts to go faster. Loose rocks tumbled off the narrow ridge, reminding, with each step, of the treacherous slope. They needed answers, now. Not known to be a man of prayer, Val offered one up just the same. Please let the answers be ones they wanted.

*****

In a heartbeat Scott dove for the protection of the trees and crawled along the ground waiting for the next shot. It never came. Only the ching, ching of those damned spurs. Not a word from Stu. Turning back, he peered through the trees and watched. One lone figure, silhouetted by the glow of the lantern, remained standing. Stu lay sprawled on the ground at his feet. He kicked Stu's lifeless body. Obviously satisfied, the spurs rang out as the silhouette returned the rifle to its scabbard.

Small in stature, that much Scott could tell, as he walked back over to Stu's body. Bending low he began pulling off his boots and threw them, one at a time, into the shack. He ran his finger over the brim of his hat, pulling it lower over his face then moved around to Stu's head. With a soft grunt, he began the struggle of dragging the body up the steps and into the shack. As the body was dragged past the lantern Scott shivered. The plan, or at least part of it, was starting to take shape. Stu had been shot, at close range, in the back of the head. The bullet's exit left him unrecognizable.

Always keeping to the shadows, using them to their full advantage, this was a man well versed in their power. He remained hidden as he stepped outside and reached for a large jug resting on the porch. Pulling the cork, he poured its contents around Stu's body and exterior walls of the shack. Taking a few steps back, he calmly tossed the lit lantern. The glass shattered and in seconds the small tinderbox was engulfed in flames. The flare of the fire glinted off silver that ran down his leg, adding another unsettling air of familiarity to this mysterious figure. He wanted to confront him, stop him, but there was nothing to be gained. His best bet was to get out, let someone know he was alright and try to figure out, before it was too late, what on earth had been set into motion.

Tbc


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Grateful for the abundant moonlight, Scott picked his way across the rocky ridge. He'd put about a mile behind him but, at what price? His feet were bloodied and his leg had cramped up on him a few yards back, making walking nearly impossible. Easing himself down onto a felled log he groaned as all hope of reaching Green River faded into the darkness that marked his descent. The slope before him was steep and foreboding. He knew why he had chosen this path, it was the most direct route, but now he wasn't so sure he could make it.

What good would it do anyway? How do you stop something when you don't know what you are trying to stop? He buried his face in his hands. Not since Libby had he felt so overwhelmingly routed.

Focusing on each exaggerated breath, the rhythm helped to clear his head, making room for a simple thought, a notion he hadn't considered. Up until now, they'd done exactly what was expected. Every inhale; followed by an exhale. Grayson's harsh words forced Murdoch's right hook. News of Johnny succumbing to the laudanum sent Scott racing for home. Word of his own disappearance drove Johnny to town. Action – reaction. Each of them, exactly as expected. How does one go against their gut, their base instinct? It might be easier to stop breathing.

Had Grayson been so meticulous, he even included Johnny's injury in his plan? During their conversation in jail, both he and Murdoch had dismissed that thought. Now, knowing Stu's involvement, everything changed. It would have been easy for Stu to load the smaller logs into the wagon. He was a trusted friend. That, and Remy's coffee, was a dangerous combination. One that was ripe to cause injury. It was Johnny who said, when the coffee was plain he'd get worked up; said it always played to Grayson's advantage. Well, Grayson certainly knew that, and he most likely ended up with precisely what he'd bargained for.

A few more minutes, that's all he needed, then he'd be ready to continue. He peered between his two paths, his intended direction and what lay behind. Ahead, moonlight forked through the branches only to be gobbled up by the darkness of the abyss, back, an unwelcoming orange glow. 'Across the ridge and straight down', those were Stu's words. Once more, he studied the orange blaze emanating from the shack, there was no use going back. Or, is that what he was expected to think?

Removing his shirt, he tore it into strips, and used them to wrap his feet. It wasn't much, but it did yield some level of comfort. Without a doubt, his family would be worried and looking for him. Did they have any idea where to search? The shack was not well known. He'd been at the ranch several years before discovering it. And, since abandoned cabins were not an uncommon sight, it warranted no mention and had been long forgotten. 'You'll be in Green River in no time', Stu made it clear that was where he was expected to head. Did that mean help was on the way? Had he walked away from it? And if indeed Murdoch was closing in, did that mean the unknown shooter would take aim at him?

He tested his newly wrapped feet with a few cautious steps. Better, not perfect, but better. Not as expected, that was the plan, at least this time. Maybe he could break the pattern.

******

"What's that?" Murdoch asked as he reined his horse to a halt.

Val didn't need to follow the man's gaze. He'd seen the rising sparks and flames at the same moment. The eerie glow almost mimicked the moon's earlier color. "I'll tell ya what it is, it ain't good."

"God damn it, Val, we'd better find Scott in one piece, or I swear Grayson is a dead man." He picked up speed sending a spray of rocks cascading into the gorge below. No more words were spoken, only the sound of falling rock marked their progress. At times, the breeze would shift and the smell of burning timber would increase the tension, sending the horses into a nervous dance.

Damn, why was it, looking for a friend made him feel twice as old as looking for anyone else? The muscles in his back ached and his hand cramped up, sending a reminder to loosen his grip on the reins. It was a bad habit, one that only showed at the most difficult of times. And this was one of them times. He studied the rider before him. His shoulders were slumped, not that others would have taken note, but knowing this proud man as he did it spoke loud and clear. Shit, how the hell must Murdoch feel, fearing for his own son?

It felt like they'd been riding for days, yet he knew the ascent had only taken a few hours. He also knew it would have taken a lot less time in daylight or if the trail had been familiar to either one of them. A few hours, a few days, did it make much difference? It could be a lifetime, Scott's lifetime.

One final bend and the horses clambered up onto the ridge's western edge. Green River lay to the east. Between them; the shack. An odd sense of relief churned with the dread and Val drove his horse faster over the rocky terrain, toward the fire. Murdoch was not far behind.

First to arrive at the clearing, Val dismounted quickly and jerked his anxious horse away from the flames and intense heat, tying it off to an out-of-the-way tree branch. In seconds Murdoch had joined him and was off his horse running toward the porch. "Scott! No, no, please, Scott, no!" Fear stained his voice, raising its pitch and sending a chill down Val's back. The un-tethered bay skittered away from the flames then bolted when the shack settled lower on one side.

"Damn it!" Val shouted as he tried unsuccessfully to grab hold of the reins. Pulling his hat from his head, he swiped it across his thigh. It was then that he saw them, the pair of stocking feet inches from the door. Letting his hat fall from his hands he ran for the porch.

Murdoch struggled against the heat trying to reach for the downed man. There was no thought in his actions only gut reaction and fear. Val grabbed at his arm. "It's no use!" Brute force sent him hurtling into the dirt.

"I have to get him, Val, I have to." Grief darkened the older man's face as he turned back to his grim task.

Brilliant yellow and orange light boiled inside as the shack crackled and groaned against the heat. Val watched the frantic act of this desperate man. His movement slow compared to the furious motion of the flames. He knew he had to help, yet at the same time he knew there was no hope. Scott was dead. Together they tried to grab hold of a foot. Waves of flame poured out the top of the door and dripped from the porch's failing roof. The collapse of a support beam drove both men back.

Murdoch stumbled, falling to his knees. His shoulders slumped and he stared at his blackened hands. "Scott, Scott, Scott," he repeated. Val had to turn away, not only had he lost a friend, but he was watching the destruction of a good man, a man that didn't deserve any of this. Two steps that brought him next to this crestfallen patriarch and he allowed his knees to give way. Placing a hand on Murdoch's shoulder, he looked at the face streaked black, the eyes full of unanswered questions. Val tightened his grip.

*****

Only the glow of the fire was visible through the trees, a beacon and, as it grew brighter, it afforded him a sense that he'd made the right decision. Murdoch's fear laden cry, wafting above the din of the fire, confirmed that belief, yet at the same time froze his heart.

His father, believing he was dead, for even a few moments, filled him with anguish and propelled him forward with more desire than agility. Repeatedly, he called out, only to have the roar of the flames drown out his cries, still he felt compelled to try. Digging deep for more strength he lumbered onward. Uneven ground, a branch, a rock, each sent him crashing down, aggravating his leg and opening new wounds on his knees and his palms. Physical pain mattered little. It was the prolonged suffering of his father that gave him the strength to get to his feet.

He was getting closer, smoke swirled through the branches giving the scene an illusory quality. The shack's interior was aglow then, before his eyes, the walls dissolved into brilliant orange light. With a desperate heave the roof, on one side, buckled and gave way, sending a shower of sparks out across the clearing. Shrouded images of the two men scuttled back, away from the far reaching flames. A piercing pain in his right food caused him to stumble and fall. Anger swelled within and he grabbed hold of a tree trunk refusing to give in to his weakness. "Murdoch!"

Murdoch's outline was taking shape, kneeling with his head slumped forward. "Murdoch," Scott shouted as loudly as he could, his voice barely heard by his own ears over the tumultuous fire. He reached the edge of the trees and lurched into the clearing, falling to his knees just as a gust of wind blew the billowing smoke in his direction, obscuring everything from view. Eyes stinging, he continued to crawl forward, catching glimpses of his father through the smoke. "Murdoch!"

Relief flooded his chest when, at last, Murdoch responded to his cries. His head jerked, as if scorched by the flames, and he looked at Val before twisting around.

"Murdoch." The name caught in his throat the moment he locked onto his father's eyes.

"Scott?" Murdoch shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. When they opened, he was moving awkwardly forward. Pushing up from the dirt, he lost his purchase before catching himself with an outstretched hand. Murdoch covered the gap, scrambling on all fours, and the second his fingers could reach, they clutched at Scott's shoulders pulling him in tight. Scott relished the firm hold and was grateful to be yanked into a lung crushing hug.

The safety of those large arms was fleeting. "I'm alright," he said pushing free. However, I'd be a lot happier if we took cover in those trees. The shooter might still be here, though I imagine we'd have heard from him by now, if he were." At that moment, the shack gave one final moan before letting go and falling into itself with a deafening crash followed by a monstrous plumb of black smoke.

The three men pulled back to the relative safety of the trees.

Before Scott was settled Murdoch began poking and prodding for injury. Quieting his father's hands when they pressed into his bruised ribs Scott felt the prickle of annoyance. "I said I was fine. Just my feet, that's all." He slid back against a tree trunk and watched the skeletal remains of the shack flicker and wink. "I was so worried about Johnny, I didn't think things through." His eyes traveled from the flames to his father. "I should have known you knew about this place. I should have known you were on your way. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You're here now and relatively unharmed." Murdoch looked more carefully at his bloodied feet and grimaced. "These are a mess. Val, we'll need some bandages and a canteen, if you have them."

"Course I do." Val sniffed. "What kind of sheriff do you think I am?" Both men, on the ground, looked at him. "He raised his hand. "Don't answer that." With an abrupt turn, he strode off through the smoke, his voice lingering longer than his familiar gait. "Think I might even have an extra shirt for ya, Scott."

Scott could feel the weight of his father's eyes, and he cocked his head to return the gaze. Murdoch quickly looked away; focusing instead on Scott's battered feet. "I thought you were dead, son," he continued without looking up. "I don't understand why he'd want me to think that, what did he hope to gain?" He raised his head and their eyes met briefly before Murdoch turned his head toward Val's direction. "What I do know is that if you were gone, Grayson was a dead man. I would have killed him, Scott."

"I have no doubt of that, Sir. Maybe that's what he wants. To stir up so much hate that we get caught doing something foolish. He already goaded you into a fight. Perhaps he was simply testing the waters, testing Mr. Love's fortitude. See how willing he was to go toe to toe with Val."

"He certainly wasn't scared of Val."

"You can stop talking 'bout me, I'm right here." Val reappeared out of the darkness. "God damn smoke." He coughed and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve before tossing the bandages and canteen into Murdoch's waiting hands and the fresh shirt into Scott's. "Got everything you asked for, and then some." He uncorked the bottle that was tucked under his arm. "Here, you sure look like you're in need of a drink." Scott wasted no time grabbing hold of the bottle, the shirt could wait. He drew a long satisfying pull. Now, care to tell me who's fool enough not to be scared a me?"

"That would be Mr. Love, Val." Slipping the bottle between his legs, Scott nodded his appreciation for the shirt. He leaned forward and pulled it on.

Val dropped his head. "Ya well, you're right about that son-of-a-bitch. If he gets his way, I'll be out of a job."

"What the devil is Grayson trying to accomplish here? If he wanted you dead, Scott, your body would be burning in that cabin." Murdoch poured the water over the bandages and held tight as Scott reflexively tried to pull his foot away. He cast his son a sympathetic glance.

"Now that you mention it, who the hell is that?" Val flicked his thumb in the direction of the blaze.

"That," Scott replied with a nod of his head and another tug of whiskey, "is Stu." He filled them in as best he could, leaving out one part. He wasn't sure how to tell Murdoch that Johnny had become reacquainted with his darkest of demons.

"Do you think this shooter could have been the boy?" Val asked.

"It's possible. At this point, anything's possible. The size appeared about right, but to kill a man like he did… that's not the boy I met. Foolhardy – yes. Deadly?" Scott shook his head. "Not sure I'm qualified to make that call though, I certainly was wrong about Stu."

"We all made that mistake, Scott." Murdoch offered.

"How long you figure he hoodwinked ya?"

"Since the day he started," said Scott. "I feel like a marionette. We've followed the path Grayson laid out from the very beginning. My only hope is maybe, by coming back, I've broken the chain. If you'd gone to town and told Johnny I was dead..."

Their eyes met. "He'd have killed him before I got the chance."

Val turned unbelieving eyes on Scott. "I hardly think the man wants to die, so maybe that means he expected this too."

Scott groaned. "I don't want to even consider that, Val. All I know is that we need to get to Green River. We may not know what's going on, but I believe we know when."

"And just how do you suggest we do that, Scott? One horse, three men. That means me and your old man are walking."

Tbc


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Teresa's grip on Willie's shoulders tightened as they peered out the doorway into the night. A darkened figure loomed inches past the café's pale yellow glow and well out of range of the distant street lamp. Together they relaxed when he stepped forward into the light. "Sam!" Teresa snapped. "You frightened us."

"I'm sorry, ladies. I can assure you, that was not my intent." He spoke with distraction, looking past them into the room. "May I come in?"

"Do you have news?" Teresa stepped back, out of the doorway, her words were a mixture of relief and concern. "Scott? Have they found him?"

"No, Teresa, I'm sorry," Sam answered her, but his eyes were fixed on Willie. "I apologize for the late hour, but your light was on and… Well, I thought I'd tell you first hand, a note seemed inappropriate."

"By all means, come in, come in." Willie reached out and took his arm, gently pulling the doctor into the café. "You're not doing much to relieve our concerns, Sam." Studying him in the light she frowned. "You look exhausted. Would you like some coffee?"

He removed his hat and dropped it onto a nearby table. "Coffee sounds wonderful." His face wore a gentle smile, but it was a doctor's smile, Willie determined. The kind meant to make one feel at ease. She wondered if he realized how poorly it was working. Walking the few short steps to the sideboard, she grabbed a cup, filled it, and turned back to face Sam with her own reassuring smile.

"Thank you," he said accepting it with two hands.

"You wanted to tell us something?" Teresa asked offering the plate of shortbread.

He shook his head and stared into the cup blowing a trough through the dark pool. "There's been an explosion at the Calico Mine," he said, shifting his weight. Willie watched him place his cup, untouched onto the table. He took his time, repositioning it, slightly, so it fit perfectly in one square of the tablecloth's pattern. Satisfied, he lifted his head and met Willie's gaze. "I've no choice, I must go."

"But that's a day's ride." Teresa complained. "Surely there's a closer doctor."

"I know exactly how far it is." His tone was curt and Willie placed a hand on his arm. He relaxed slightly and shook his head. "I'll never understand why these places don't keep a doctor on site, what with the potential for injury. And you are right," he said with a weak smile. "There is a doctor between the mine and here. Doctor Brewster… if you can manage to find the man, he's usually not sober enough to be of much assistance."

"How bad is it? Were many hurt?" Willie asked, surprised at Teresa's unsympathetic attitude.

"I won't know much of anything until I get there. The miner that woke me wasn't very helpful, he barely spoke English. All I know is he'd been instructed to find more than one doctor, so he moved on quickly."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Teresa finally asked.

"I could use some food for the journey. My pantry is rather bare."

"It's no wonder, Sam, you're never there." Willie smiled. "I've got plenty to give you, and now I won't have it spoiling when we go to Green River."

"Green River, Willie? Do you think that's wise? I know Johnny was very clear about Teresa coming here to stay with you. He didn't want…"

"I've tried to talk her out of it," Teresa interrupted. She won't listen to me. Her mind is made up."

Willie met Sam's gaze. "Sometimes you just have to do what you feel is right, Sam, even if it doesn't make any sense."

"And other times you have to do what is right, Willie, whether it feels right or not."

She looked from Teresa to Sam, each glowered at her. "I'm waiting for daylight, be happy with that," she fumed. Picking up Sam's hat from the table, she ran her hand around the brim. "As soon as we pack up your basket, I'll bring it to you." She passed him the hat and moved swiftly toward the kitchen. Only the bell's jingle signaled Sam's departure.

~*~*~*~

The two women worked in silence. Each time Teresa opened her mouth to protest Willie simply shook her head. Their mutual irritation prompted them to work quickly, wrapping an assortment of items from fried chicken to scones to pickles. They filled the wicker hamper in no time.

Willie pulled her shawl from the hook by the back door and placed it loosely around her shoulders. "Teresa, please believe me, I'm not trying to be difficult it's just that when I first said I was going to Green River it surprised me too. But a few things came to mind when you and I talked and now with Sam leaving – Oh I don't know… if I'm wrong I won't stay."

"We can talk about it when you get back from Sam's." Teresa passed Willie the basket and opened the door.

"There is nothing to talk about, Teresa. The only thing left is for you to decide if you are coming or not. And it may be best if you stayed here." Willie stepped into the night air, it was cooler than she expected. She shivered, set down the overloaded basket and wrapped one end of her shawl about her neck. Picking up the hamper she continued on.

The amber light resonating from Sam's office competed with the soft glow of the moon. On most nights, both would have offered comfort; tonight neither did anything to uplift her spirits. She prayed Scott would be found safe but there was more at play here, there was another prayer she uttered, "Please God, let me be wrong." But she knew in her bones she wasn't.

She spied Sam as he hurried out with an armload of supplies, set them in the buggy, then turned and strode purposefully back inside. There were so many possibilities with an accident of this sort, from burns to broken bones to the poison spewed in billowing clouds that choked the life from a man. Born to an Ohio coal mining family, Willie was all too familiar with these and more.

Exiting the building, Sam's arms were again laden; he allowed the items to tumble free then began to arrange them into the rear of the buggy. "By the looks of things, I'm sure you have everything you'll need, Sam," Willie said, settling the basket onto the floor in front of the passenger seat.

"Bandages, I'll need more bandages." Sam mumbled and hurried back into his office. Willie followed him inside. His shoulders slumped with the sound of the closing door. "I wish I didn't have to leave. My place is here."

"We understand, Sam." Willie reached out, her fingers brushing the doctor's shoulder. "This is tragic and you're needed there, not waiting around here for what might happen."

He turned slowly, his brown eyes held no spark. "Knowing you're doing the right thing doesn't make it any easier, Willie."

"You're a doctor, Sam, it is what you do. We'll survive. You've been called away before, and you will be again."

"I know, you're right of course, but…" He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I wasn't here for you when David died and now… What if Scott needs me?" Grabbing another bag he walked across the room to his medicine cabinet, reached in his pocket for the key and unlocked it.

"Scott isn't David. These two situations are nothing alike. And, since we're being honest, I'm trying to have a little faith." Willie attempted to lighten her voice. She hadn't seen Sam look so defeated since Gabe died. "If not in Scott, then in Johnny. According to Teresa, he thinks the goal was to get him to town. Well, he's there, so they won't need Scott anymore."

"You're putting a lot of faith in what Johnny thinks."

"I have to put my faith somewhere, so for now, I'll put it with Johnny. I'd like to believe he knows what he's doing."

She watched as Sam busied himself, pulling bottles and tins from his medicine cabinet and placing them carefully into the bag. "Where does faith end and foolishness begin? I'm not sure I know."

"Sam, that doesn't sound like you!"

He looked up from the bottle he held. "No, I don't suppose it does. I'm sorry, Willie, I guess I'm just tired."

"Yes you are, but that is not where that came from. What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not sure putting your faith with Johnny is… I'm afraid he… he's pushing too hard. I really should check on him before I go."

Without speaking Willie stepped closer and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder with her other hand she removed the bottle. "Sam, I know it is not my place, but… if I'm not mistaken, I know exactly where Johnny has placed his faith and I still believe he knows what he's doing."

A look of relief spread over the doctor's face. "Of course, Scott told you."

"No, no one told me but I do have eyes, I watched his reaction to something Scott said the night he was injured. Scott made a joke about mixing laudanum in with Remy's coffee. Johnny did not find it the least bit funny. There was fear in him I'd never witnessed before and then, my suspicions were confirmed the next morning when I overheard you and Murdoch discussing the situation."

"You heard that?"

"The entire house heard it, Sam, most just paid it no mind."

Sam's eyes told more than a doctor's voice is allowed, quickly he looked away. "I need to go," he said, snapping his bag closed.

"Wait, Sam." She stilled him with the touch of her hand. "Do you remember the last year of David's life?"

"How could I forget, Willie?"

She was touched by the gentleness in his voice and knew he deeply regretted not being there when he passed. "Some days the pain was so bad, he begged God to let him die." She closed her eyes and fought back the tears that threatened. "This little bottle provided him - us - with a great deal of comfort." She held it up between her fingers and studied the label. "At first he took too much but eventually, together, we found the right amount to keep him comfortable and functioning. It gave me more time with the man I loved." She handed the bottle back to Sam. "You and I both know that if Johnny is in town he is not there without help. And you and I both know it is a road he's walked down before."

Sam sighed. "David's experience was different. He was dying. I'm afraid I am less sympathetic with Johnny. As a physician, I am ashamed to admit it, but I have little patience for weakness of this nature."

She planted her hands firmly on her hips. "It could hardly be considered weakness, Sam. I saw what happened when David thought he was getting better and he tried to stop."

"Yes, his cancer did go into remission, there was hope for a short time."

"I didn't involve you, because David begged me not to." Willie squeezed her eyes shut, remembering his suffering. "All I can say is a person who can go through that could never be considered weak. It was worse than the disease. It was worse than watching him die because I held the power to make it all stop. Of course, when I look back at it now it was hardly worth it, he was gone just a few months later."

"Willie, I'm not sure you fully understand what is at stake here. If you attempt to control this you'll be playing with fire, you do realize that."

"Sam, no one knows how long this will drag out. But one thing we can all agree on is this man, this Gray or Grayson or whatever he wants to be called, must be dealt with and, it seems to me, only clear thinking will accomplish that task. With Scott missing and Murdoch wrought with worry that leaves Johnny. Can you tell me with certainty that he is anywhere near clear thought?"

"You know I can't."

"Besides, once Scott and Murdoch understand I can step away. It really is not my place, but I believe I can be of some help."

"I'm not so sure they will understand, Willie. I'm a doctor and it baffles me. And because of that I have simply turned a blind eye to the dangers."

"Don't sell yourself short, Sam. This has you concerned, I can see it in your face.

"That may be true, but…"

"Why don't we wait and cross that bridge when we need to, Sam. You came back in here for bandages, if I remember correctly, and look at how I've distracted you." Willie spun away knowing exactly where the extras were kept and found herself suddenly light headed. She teetered for a moment but quickly recovered.

"You, my dear, need to slow down."

"I know, Sam, and I'll have plenty of time for that once things quiet down around here. Wonder how the Lancer's would feel if I offered Teresa a job?"

"That is a splendid idea, Willie, and one that I will highly recommend to them. Plus it will grant you more time to spend with a certain young man."

Willie shot him a disparaging look.

"What? What did I say?" He studied her face and nodded his head. "You spoke to him at last, told him your concerns?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I did. Only wish my timing were better."

"I take it things did not go well."

Willie felt the well of tears in her eyes and quickly wiped them away. "Oh, Sam, I hope you don't mind but that is a topic for another day."

Tbc


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Pain, he could feel it, a steady ta-tum, ta-tum, ta-tum, keeping pace with the beat of his heart. His eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to draw down on that pain. It meant something. It meant the laudanum was wearing off. But, would that be enough? Would aiming for the pain drive away the need, the craving? Dios, he hated this. He hated the chill that made his bones ache, hated the disgusting taste it left behind in his mouth and hated the way his skin felt, too God-damn tight.

"John."

The familiar voice was soft and gentle and close, too close.

"John."

It repeated, slogging its way through the mud that was his brain.

"John, are you alright?"

That time it was a bit more demanding. Why? What was he supposed to be doing? He was trying to concentrate on the pain, only the pain. Ta-tun, ta-tum-ta-tum. There was no room for distraction.

"Perhaps you'd like some help getting to your room?"

He felt a hand grab his arm, trying to pull him up. It would take a hell of a lot more than that to get him to budge, it felt like he'd been here forever, rooted like a tree, that big tree, on the edge of the south pasture. Maybe that's where he was; napping, under that tall oak.

The voice split his thought in two, this time it was not so soft or gentle, but still familiar and still close.

"Tom, I'm at a disadvantage, get over here and lend a hand."

Tom? What was Tom doing here? He's at the Painted Lady. Painted Lady, that's funny, it was the last place he'd go for a lady, painted or otherwise. All the ladies were used up and stretched out. Come to think of it, they were much more plain than painted. Sure can't go by a name. Name… Tom… Shit, he was at the Painted Lady.

"Tom, I asked you for assistance."

"Maybe you should just let him be, Mr. Gray. He looks comfortable and ain't no one here gonna give him grief."

"He wouldn't be pleased with that decision, Tom, and you know it; out here in the middle of the room for all to see. It's not safe."

Safe? Since when did this Mr. Gray care about his safety? With a jerk, he pushed away the hand on his arm and rolled his head to one side. Through half closed lids Grayson's face came into focus. He was sitting in a chair sidled up right next to him, studying him. That's not how he remembered things. Last he knew they were talking. The man had asked for a favor, a favor because he was dying. "Dying. That's funny." He snickered. "Sure can think of a few people that would be pleased to hear that news."

"You don't need to be one of them, John."

"Might enjoy watching." The words left his mouth in cracked and broken pieces, holding none of the edge he was going for. Staring at the man it was surprising how old he looked, older than his years. He looked as if they both felt about the same, like something that had been stomped on and left for dead.

"My, my, that is a change of heart. Before you drifted off on me, son, you said you couldn't hate me. Now you want to watch me die?"

Dios, where does shit like that come from? Couldn't hate him? Of course he hated him. Using his elbows, he pushed up straight in the chair; or what he hoped passed for straight. His arms and legs were acting like they belonged to a newborn calf. He only wished he could get them under control as fast.

Ta-tum. The pain was losing its upper hand. The damn cold was doing the talking now. One drop and he could be warm again. That's all he needed, a drop, maybe two. He had another bottle. Wouldn't take much of an effort. He looked around for his saddle bag, found it, left behind at the bar. Guess it would take a little more effort than he was up for at the moment. A notion flickered and he kicked away the chair his leg had been resting on, using enough force to topple it with a room awakening clatter. The action sent spikes of fiery pain clawing through him, forcing beads of sweat to form on his upper lip. The rapid fire warmed him and lit a thin smile.

Grayson barely moved. He only leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms. "Feel better now?"

"As a matter of fact I do. Pain has a way of focusing a man's thoughts. And just so we're clear on one point, I'd be pleased to watch you die."

With a shake of his head, Grayson leaned forward and pressed his lips to Johnny's ear, his words a whisper. "Be careful what you wish for, son." Settling back into his chair, he tugged his sleeves into place. "Wishes have a way of becoming reality." He added with a wink. "Your words do bring to mind a question." He placed a hand on Johnny's forearm and gave it a little squeeze. "Since I'm obviously undeserving of your sympathy, why didn't you let me die when you had the chance? Back in Nogales all you had to do was walk away; you could have spared yourself all this grief. If only you…" His voice splintered for a moment before he regained control. "You had your chance."

He pulled on one end of his black string tie to loosen it and undid a few buttons on his coat. "But you did more than save me, didn't you? You avenged me, gunned down two of the three men that did this to me." He tapped his cane against his shoe. "Why? If I am so vile, why did you seek retribution?"

Grayson's coal black eyes burned a hole straight through him, demanding an answer. The chair was all of a sudden too hard and he twitched then looked away. That look always made him feel like he'd marched through shit. Restless, his eyes wandered across the room, staring, one by one, into the faces of the few men left in the saloon. Turning back towards Grayson, he busied himself with a deep scratch in the arm of the chair, rubbing at it with his thumb. When he spoke, his voice was soft, ashamed of what he was about to say. "Didn't hate you then, thought I owed you. Figured, if not for you, I'd have been dead."

"How very touching." Grayson pressed his hand to his chest. "I believe this confession calls for a drink." He raised two fingers and Tom nodded in response. "I suppose it was Murdoch Lancer who enlightened you?"

He traced the groove in the wood two more times, once up - once down, and raised his head. "It was truth, nothing else." His head dipped as his focus returned to the scratch. "What is it Scott says? Truth will set you free?" He looked up and flashed a smile. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Truth is a foolish waste of time. Most people want nothing to do with it; living with lies is more comfortable."

Johnny watched Grayson's eyes follow Tom across the room. The bartender set two glasses on the table, filled them and turned to leave. "Leave the bottle," Grayson ordered.

Tom did as he was told then put a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Gonna be lockin' up pretty soon. You need anything, Johnny? Some supper, maybe? Wouldn't mind scroungin' something up for ya."

"I'm good, Tom. Thanks."

"If'n you say so. Not sure I like the idea of leaving you two alone after the unfriendly start."

"Not to worry, Tom. We've seen past our differences, haven't we, son?"

Tipping his chair back, Johnny looked Tom in the eyes. "We're good, Tom."

With a nod Tom turned his attention to dimming the lamps and sending his last few customers on their way.

Johnny let his chair drop back down and drew a sharp breath at the stab of welcome pain. "You were ready to speak of truth."

"So I was. Though it is my belief you are one of those that prefer the comfort of lies."

"And what makes you think that?"

"The very fact you need to ask proves my point." Grayson continued. "Do you have any idea how many lies you've lived? Look at you." He waved a hand over Johnny. "Did you expect to go through the rest of your life without being overcome by the desire for laudanum? I'll tell you a truth you don't want to hear. Never; never will you be free of it. Your only escape will be death. And if you're lucky, very lucky, it will be swift." He picked up the glasses and pressed one into Johnny's hand. "Let us drink to death, the one truth."

"I'll drink to your death," Johnny said before swallowing the golden fire, willing the warmth into his bones.

"See what I mean, you only think you want to know my truths."

Setting his empty glass on the table Grayson almost purred. "Pure blue agave from Jalisco, aged to a light gold, there is none better in all of Mexico. A gift of such a bottle is special, is it not, son? When opened in the presence of the giver, good luck will follow. Pity you did not heed the tradition, maybe things would have turned out better for you." He paused to draw a breath. "And for Stu," he added. It was Stu who gave you such a bottle, was it not?"

Johnny thought for a moment, turning the empty glass between his palms. "You mean? I thought it was…"

Grayson let loose his hearty laugh. It did nothing to ease the pain, like before. This time it grabbed hold and squeezed. "The boy? You honestly thought I would send the boy in with laudanum? He's so clumsy he'd have broken it into a thousand pieces. The only injury I could have hoped for was a cut from broken glass." He continued to laugh, wiping the tears from his eyes. "No, that boy is good for only one thing, diversion."

Johnny felt the bile creep up into his throat. "Stu? I called him friend, I trusted him."

"Well, isn't that the point? Trust? Your mother trusted Socorro and you trusted Stu. There really is little chance of triumph without trust." Your friend, Stu," he shook his head and looked as if he'd just caught a whiff of something that smelled real bad, "despite the loathsome name, he proved to be most helpful. He came to me with an idea. Just place a few of the wrong sized logs into the wagon after something got you off kilter. I had no idea it would work so very well. And poor, foolish, Remy had no idea the effect his coffee would have on you."

"But why? Why have you done this to me again?"

"I wanted you to understand me, son. I wanted you to feel some of my pain. I wanted you to remember how it felt to need one more drop of laudanum, to feel it eating holes in your brain until every thought, every breath; every second is consumed by desire. Then and only then would you understand my request. Don't you see?"

"I see you're fucking crazy."

Grayson stretched, reached into the small pocket of his vest and removed his watch. He studied it for a moment and smiled his sick, sweet smile. "I believe we were talking about truth. Are you still interested or have you heard enough?"

"Good night, gentlemen." Tom stood with one foot on the bottom step. "Since you're both staying, you have the run of the place. I'm going to bed." He yawned loudly.

"Good night," Grayson replied. "Have no fear, we'll take fine care of your establishment."

"Ain't my establishment I'm worried 'bout, just take fine care of each other, okay?"

"Will do, Tom. Night." Johnny added with a wave of his hand.

"Think we can do that, son? Grayson asked softly, refilling his glass. "Think we can take fine care of each other?" Tipping the bottle he offered Johnny a refill.

"Nope, not a chance," Johnny answered. He watched the light from the one remaining lamp bounce off his glass as he flipped it and slammed it upside down on the table. "Quit calling me son." His words were still quiet, but they were delivered with an icy stare, a look that carried weight and caused most men to look away.

Grayson met the gaze with one of his own. "Correct me if I'm wrong. My wife gave birth to a boy. I do believe that makes him my son. Being present at the birth makes no difference. Look at Murdoch, for instance, his wife bore him a son, Scott. Pity, right about now, he is staring in disbelief at a burned body; a body, he believes is, or should I say was, his son."

"Why you fucking bastard!" In a split second the shortened barrel of his 45 was pressed to Grayson's temple. The bastard didn't even twitch.

"See what I mean? You want nothing to do with truth." He pushed the gun away. "May I?" he asked, lifting his glass to his lips. The smile on Grayson's face twisted a knot in Johnny's stomach. "It really is too good to waste. " He sipped slowly never pulling his eyes from Johnny's face. "The truth is, your brother is alive and well, but I would be lying if I didn't find some pleasure in the image of your father devastated at the loss of his golden child."

Pulling the gun back, Johnny slipped it back into his holster. "Why?" The word caught in his throat, the image of his father lost in the pain of a dead son weighed heavy on his heart. "Why make him believe Scott is dead?"

"My, you are addled aren't you? Why on earth would I want to kill Scott? He means nothing to me. There would be no satisfaction to be gained. No, my pleasure comes from Murdoch Lancer, bereft at the loss of his fair-haired boy then, when he returns to town defeated, and discovers his favorite son, his only son, is safe your little malady will be unimportant. In fact, I'm betting he'll look at you in disgust, disappointed once more by the bastard child as you wallow in a laudanum haze."

Johnny felt the air gush from him, the bastard might as well have gutted him with a knife; it would have hurt a hell of a lot less. He squirmed in his chair. Disappointment, he was good at that. How many times had he let his father down? But this, this was the worst of all. His hands shook as he reached for his glass, turned it end over end wishing it held what he wanted. No, not what he wanted. It was the last thing he wanted. He wrapped his fingers around the glass and squeezed his eyes closed. The attack was from all fronts. Ta-tum, ta-tum, the beat of the pain grew louder and louder in his ears, the cold in his bones caused his body to shake and a cold sweat dampened his skin.

"You're hurting, son." The voice drifted in over the roar in his ears. A warm touch pushed his hair from his face. "Let me help you." Fingers worked to pry the glass from his hand. "Let go. I know what you need."

The scrape of a chair, the strike of a cane, the flop of his saddlebags, each sound brought a flutter of desire to the pit of his stomach. He bit his lip, hard, tasting the saltiness of his blood. A few drops, that's all it would take. Just enough to beat back the pain and the cold and the need.

Grayson pressed the glass back into waiting fingers. "Drink."

Deep in his heart he knew better, knew he should refuse, knew he should toss the damn shit in Grayson's face but every muscle, every bone screamed drink. He tossed the bitter liquid down his throat and waited. Maybe it was all in his head, maybe he was God damn loco but the minute it hit his belly he felt the warmth spread over him, slow and smooth like a women's caress. A smile crept across his lips, and he opened his eyes in time to watch Grayson finish off the small bottle.

With a groan, Grayson dropped back into his chair. "I'll be glad when my time comes. My best days are far behind me."

Johnny snorted. "You've cheated death before, what makes you think you won't this time?"

He pulled his watch from his vest pocket. "It's very simple, son," he said studying its face for a moment before sliding it back into place. "I no longer wish to." He looked around the room peering into the darkened corners.

"You lookin' for someone?"

"I was just thinking perhaps we should get you comfortable in the other room. It is getting quite late, another hour or so and the sun will be making its appearance. I hope you don't mind, my things are still there. As usual, I have no idea where Remy is. He's never around when I need him. Nothing like you were. The boy likes to cook for God's sake.

"There something wrong with that?"

"Of course there is, he was supposed to be a man, a killer just like you were. Instead, well… thank God for his sister. She took me quite by surprise. Actually, you and she are quite a bit alike."

"You don't say."

"She is most anxious to meet you, having heard so many stories. I fear she may have a bit of a preoccupation."

Tbc


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Single file, that was the best the three of them could do. Scott led the way on horseback while Val and Murdoch plodded along behind him. Horseback was decidedly no faster than foot. Well, in Scott's case it was, he was hurting and would have been incapable of taking more than half a dozen steps without stumbling.

Peering over the edge of the narrow trail gave him an uneasy feeling. Darkness quickly swallowed up its incline obscuring the pitch, but the distance was unmistakable. He listened as a loosened stone made the perilous descent. One misstep could very easily send any of them down that treacherous slope.

"How are you holding up, Scott?"

"I tell you, Murdoch, I'd be doing a lot better if we could move a little faster. Your friend McCall sure liked to keep folks at a distance."

"That he did. But, the moment we reach level ground you'll be able to take off on your own, just don't forget to send back a couple of horses, no matter what you find going on."

Scott nodded, even though he was sure Murdoch couldn't see him. What was that proverb, always darkest before the dawn? The near full moon had recently set leaving them in complete darkness and his outlook on the situation had darkened as well.

"Not sure what good getting to town will do ya." Val added his two cents worth. "Ain't like you can walk. What ya gonna do, ride that horse straight through the doors of the Painted Lady? Reckon Tom will have a thing or two to say about that."

"He has a point, Scott. Do you have a plan, other than letting your brother know he is not alone in this? We need to stop Grayson, but without knowing what he has in mind, well…"

"I'm afraid we might be too late already, Murdoch."

"What do you mean, Scott, too late?"

Scott reined Val's horse to a stop on the narrow trail and turned in his saddle. Not that it did any good; all he could make out was the outline of the two men. "Stu was quite proud of a little trick he pulled on Johnny."

"A trick?" Murdoch asked, his voice marked by his fear.

"Yes, about a month back Stu gave Johnny a bottle of tequila, a very special bottle. I remember how pleased Johnny was to receive it. He spoke of a tradition that revolved around the gifting of Jalisco tequila."

"I heard a that." Val revealed. "It's bad luck to share the first shot with anyone but the person who gives it to ya. Damn, guess that proved true for each a them."

"Guess Stu didn't believe the folklore since after that he made himself conveniently unavailable."

"Scott?" Murdoch's tone was pleading. "What is going on here?"

"The bottle was laced with laudanum, Murdoch. And before Johnny knew what was in it…"

"Are you saying…?"

"I'm saying that what Johnny feared most has become a reality. And, even if we all walk away from this mess I'm afraid Johnny won't. He didn't think he could go through it again, Murdoch. What if he can't? You know, I think he feared this more than Grayson himself."

"He'll make it. He has to. This time he has something that didn't exist for him before. This time he has family." Murdoch's drew a long exaggerated breath. His words were spoken softly, almost as a prayer. "Please, let this end."

Scott moved the horse forward, not wanting to waste any more time. He could hear Val and Murdoch talking softly but couldn't make out what they were saying.

Val spoke up. "Before, you said Stu talked about missin' the show, any idea what he meant by that, Scott?"

"I wish I did. What I do know is, as far as Stu was concerned, all three of us would want to put a bullet in him after this played out. So, at the time, I took that as a good sign. However, it is now painfully obvious that Stu was not privy to the whole plan."

"You do realize. I won't rest until we see Grayson dead." Murdoch spoke with authority. "And," he added, "It will be my pleasure to watch him suck in his last breath."

"I think it's best if I pretend I didn't hear that Murdoch," Val stated, "Though I gotta admit I agree with ya."

~*~*~*~*~

With one arm wrapped around Teresa, Willie watched Sam begin his journey to the mine. He quickly vanished from sight and they both stood there peering into the darkness. "Well Teresa, what did you decide? Are you staying here or are you coming with me to Green River?"

"But, you told Sam you'd wait for daylight. A lot can happen in a few hours. Do I really need to make up my mind now?"

"By the time I wake Lou, and he gets a buggy ready it will be close enough." She didn't wait for an answer but moved swiftly toward the livery. "Are you coming?" She called back without turning around.

"I'm really not sure what you plan to accomplish." Willie heard the swish of Teresa's skirt as she hurried to catch up. "I think you are being rather foolish."

"Foolish or not I'm going. I've never been one to just sit and wait. I do things. Usually I do things that are expected but on occasion an idea takes hold, and it won't let go. This is one of those times."

They made their way to the small house situated behind the livery. A cord hung by the door and Willie gave it a firm tug, the faint sound of a bell could be heard within. They waited, rang again and waited some more. Teresa was ready to pull the cord a third time when the door flew open. "What in blue blazes are ya wakin' me at this hour fer?" Willie raised her hand to block the near blinding light of his lantern. "Miss Willie? Is that you?" He raised the lamp higher. "And Miss Teresa? Is there trouble?"

"There is some trouble, Lou, but not here, not in Spanish Well," said Willie. "We need to get to Green River. So, if you don't mind, we'd like to hire a buggy." Lou stared at her for a moment patting down the few strands of hair on his head. His faded red long johns were tattered beyond repair and stretched to the point of falling away at any moment. Thankfully he wore pants in slightly better condition held in place by one suspender, the other dangled at his knees. "A buggy, Lou," Willie repeated.

"Don't got my buggy." He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "The Carvers do, on account that Shep's sister is visiting from Denver. Got a buckboard."

"It'll do, thank you, Lou. How quick can you have us on our way?"

"Need at least thirty minutes, give or take."

"Very well, we'll be back in half an hour." Willie turned to leave and the edges of her world started to dim. She grabbed hold of Lou's shoulder to steady herself.

"You okay there?" he asked.

Recovering quickly she pulled her hand away, "Of course," she said, smoothing the front of her dress. Teresa eyed her carefully but said nothing. "My heel caught in the hem of my dress, that's all. Don't forget Lou, half an hour."

"I'll be here, I'm always here." Lou said as he moved toward the livery.

"Now where?" Teresa asked, hurrying to catch up once more.

"Sam's office," Willie answered as she crossed the street. "He packed a box of supplies for us to take with us. Then back home, I'll need to throw a few things into a valise. And you, Teresa, you have thirty minutes to make up your mind."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Johnny squirmed in his chair. "Preoccupation. What the hell is that? If it means she wants to see me, I'm right here. Have been for…" He dropped his head and ran his thumb back over that groove in the arm of the chair. Shit, he had no idea how long he'd been here. Felt like fucking days. "…a while," was the best he could come up with. "If she's so all fired up to meet me, why hasn't she come out to say hello?"

"I'm afraid she had some business to attend to. Though, I do expect her to show herself presently." Grayson pulled his watch out again, studied it then slipped it back into his vest pocket. "There is no rushing that girl." His lips curled into the hint of a smile, a real smile, not that sickening grin he usually flashed. "She has her own way of getting things done."

"Guess you think yourself pretty lucky, you got two to do your dirty work this time around."

"Two? My, no. Remy is a complete waste of flesh and bone, but on occasion he has served a purpose. Now, if I were to compare him to someone it would be Tocón, useless and stupid. You remember Tocón, don't you?"

"How could I forget him? He was like a brother to me. He only tried to protect me."

Grayson snorted and his smile grew. "You see, people like that can be good for something. After the death of their mother, poor Reba was in a bad way. Remy was there for his sister, though I am not sure he ever understood." The smile slipped from his face, and he placed a gentle hand over Johnny's, stilling its constant movement. Their eyes met. His voice, that voice, was soft. "Most people didn't understand, but I believe you would have, son. I believe the boy I knew would have understood, sympathized."

Johnny pulled his hand away. "Don't do that. Don't pretend you know me."

"Ah, but I do know you, better than you might think." Grayson paused to draw a long, slow breath and his eyes travelled into a darkened corner of the saloon. "I told her your stories, Maria's violent death and what you suffered, the accusations, the lies, the scars."

"You had no right." Johnny said shaking his head. "No good could come from the telling, no good at all. Besides, what did you know, you weren't even there?"

"Well, I'm certain they eased some of her pain, made her feel less alone. And as for my knowing, I heard enough. Socorro wasn't known for keeping his mouth shut, he was quick to point the finger at you. He caused so much of your suffering and to think I believed him, that is I did until we found Inez and her brother." He pulled his eyes away from the darkness and focused on Johnny. The sick smile seeped across the man's face until it reached his black eyes. "She told me it was Tocón who killed my Maria; she actually thought the truth would spare him." His face darkened. "He died a coward."

"He had the head of a kid, how did you expect him to die?"

Grayson looked insulted. "I didn't expect him to squeal like a pig. The silence brought by Socorro's blade was most welcome, even Inez was relieved. You know, we actually did everyone a favor that day. I spared Inez the burden of a half-wit brother and you, you…" He shook his head. "It was what you wanted."

"I never wanted Tocón to die. Never!" The glasses on the table jumped when Johnny slammed down his fist. How quickly this bastard could turn things, twist a conversation. He pushed to his feet; the last shot of laudanum had gone a long way toward easing the pain and leaving him with a sense of control.

Grayson shook his head. "There they are again," he said with a furrowed brow.

"What? There what are?"

"The lies you tell yourself every day. You wanted the man who killed your mother dead. Why else would you have been so happy to see Socorro die? And, if my information is correct about your little… What shall we say, situation last year? It didn't matter who the killer was, even you. Am I right?"

His jaw clenched tight and he could feel his teeth grind together. "If I had any idea what kind of man you were all those years ago one of Socorro's bullets would have found your heart." Grabbing his cane from the tabletop he lunged forward and jammed the tip into Grayson's chest. "That is, if there is a heart in there."

The thrust lifted the front legs of Grayson's chair off the ground and sent him and the chair toppling to the floor. "Do it! Do it then, you ungrateful bastard," he spat. A fine layer of sweat covered Grayson's face and he appeared to be hurting.

"Don't tempt me," Johnny said, his fingers resting lightly on the grip of his gun, his gut aching with disgust.

"Why?" Grayson asked while still on the floor. He pulled a silver flask from his pocket and drank. With each sip, his face relaxed. "Would you do it? It is what I expected from you when you met Murdoch. But you disappointed me." With little grace, he struggled to his feet. "I fear you would only disappoint me again. You seem to make a habit of disappointing people in your life. Perhaps you should work on that." He took one more sip and corked the flask returning it to his pocket. A look of curiosity wrinkled his brow. "Whatever happened to all that hate? You lived to hate, ate it, breathed it and now…" He sighed. "You are nothing but a complete disappointment. Perhaps you are more like Remy than I first thought. How does that make you feel?"

"I don't give a damn what you think of me. How does that make you feel? And if you don't mind, I think I will go to bed. I'm done with you." He spun away a little too quickly causing him to sway slightly.

Grayson grabbed hold of his arm. The tight grip was not to steady him but to stop him. "I taught you everything. Without me, you'd be dead. Don't tell me you're not proud of who you are and what you've accomplished. My God, who wouldn't want your speed, your accuracy, your reputation? You're John Madrid for Christ's sake."

"I know exactly who I am," Johnny said shaking his arm free. "I am Murdoch Lancer's son, and you make me sick." He brushed past Grayson and walked toward the bar.

As much as he wanted to walk straight from the room he knew he didn't have it in him and falling to the floor would not have worked to his advantage. The nasty taste of laudanum clung to his lips but it left him feeling good. Not clouded like before. This could work. He could do this. He moved the length of the bar using it and the cane for support.

Ching, ching ching.

The familiar sound took him by surprise. He stopped, the sound stopped. He looked down at his feet, he wasn't wearing his spurs, hell he only had on one boot, the other foot too swollen to wear more than a few pairs of socks. He stepped again.

Ching, ching, ching.

In the doorway he was aiming for, a figure stepped from the darkness. It moved toward him.

Ching, ching.

He blinked and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Maybe he didn't feel as good as he thought, maybe he felt a little too good. He blinked again then reached out to touch what stood before him. Hell, he half expected his hand to keep right on going, but it came to rest on just about the prettiest hair he'd ever seen. He rubbed it between his fingers until the sorrel strands fell free then pulled his hand back and sucked in a breath. Was that vanilla he smelled? He closed his eyes, damn he could see himself getting lost in that hair and those lips and... Opening his eyes he wished her gone, but there she stood. Her lips glowed moist in the lamplight begging him to step closer and her cheeks wore the flush of excitement. Her shirt, in a man's style, was the color of turning leaves and even in the dimly lit room it brought out the golden threads of her hair.

Damn, she sure was pretty, could a been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Could a been, until you looked into her eyes. Murky green, the color of some swamp water he came upon once. Same water that claimed the life of his horse and a few of the men he rode with. A shiver rippled through him and he pulled away from the lifeless stare, Dios, 'los ojos de la muerte'.

"Ah, Reba, my dear, you have returned. I was growing concerned."

"No need, Pa. Everything went as we planned."

"Wonderful, you make me so very proud." Grayson stepped closer and leaned into her, running his thumb across her lips. She smiled and moistened the tip of his thumb with her tongue. His thumb trailed down her chin and her throat, coming to rest on her top button. He undid the first few and allowed his hand to slip underneath and cup her breast. He then pressed his lips to her ear and whispered. She laughed, a rich musical laugh that never reached her dead eyes.

"Allow me," he said taking her arm and moving her closer. "This is the man you have waited so long to meet. This is my son, John."

"I know who he is," she said undoing the rest of her buttons and pulling her shirt from her pants. He wanted to walk away but at the same time his eyes were drawn to her, her breasts the size of apples the white flesh and red nipples begging to be tasted. Funny the thoughts that jump into your brain. All he could think about was Eve and that serpent, well that wasn't all he was thinking, but it was close enough.

Tbc


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Her scent surrounded him, vanilla and smoke, wrapped in musky sweetness. A smile curled the corners of his mouth when fingers tugged his shirt free and slid across burning flesh. Moist heat pressed as her tongue traced the outline of his lips. Pain drifted off, another ache stirred, and he longed for a soft bed and some hard sex. He moaned and leaned into her, his own tongue seeking hers. The shifting weight sent a scorching burst through his leg. The savage assault nearly brought him to his knees.

"Do you actually think I'd want you? Even if I did, cowboy…" She ran a finger over the buttons of his pants and finished with a firm squeeze. "I'm betting your colt wouldn't be firing tonight. How much laudanum have you had?" She asked with a cocky grin and a tilt of her head. "Stu told me, you know. Right before I killed him."

'Right before I killed him', the words echoed in his head alongside the pain, would've knocked him on his ass if he weren't already hanging onto the bar with a white-knuckled grip. Stu was dead. This much he'd pieced together. Hell, after what Stu did he deserved to be dead, only thing was, it should have been his lead that did the job. The thought of that bastard hitting the ground while his blood still hung in the air teased at a grin. It sure wasn't the words that bothered him, or the picture they brought to mind. No, it was the fact that nothing went with them words, no pride, no pain, no relief and damn sure no regret. He turned away from Reba and leaned deep over the bar. The jolt of pain had rolled over him but he still felt its effects. Closing his eyes, he swallowed back the puke that threatened and wiped at the trickle of sweat traveling down the side of his face. What he wouldn't give to feel dead inside. The laudanum wasn't doing near enough. There'd been times in his life when he didn't need laudanum to numb the pain. It had just hurt so God damn bad he didn't care anymore and he had a pretty good idea that's where Reba was right about now. Shit, he'd never been really dead inside and for some reason he wanted to believe neither was she.

Fingers traveled to his back, and, with a feather light touch, walked up to tease the ends of his hair. She pressed her lips to his ear. "Leg hurt some?"

He jerked away from the hate in her voice. She grabbed a handful of hair and yanked him around to look at her. "I hope you don't think you're better than me, cause the way I hear it, you and me, we've got a few important things in common."

Johnny felt his shoulders sag. "Not sure that's something you should be bragging about."

"Who said I was bragging?" She asked. Releasing the hold on his hair, her hand snaked its way under his shirt causing his breath to hitch when cool fingers brushed the scar that wove its way upward from his hip. "We carry the brand, you and I, the brand reminding us of our mother's death." She took a few steps back, catching his questioning stare in her lifeless eyes and pulled open her shirt, revealing her own scar, a deep crease running just below her ribs.

Never thought of it that way but he guessed it made sense, branded, by the violent death of their mothers. Reaching out, he touched the angry mark then pulled his hand back, knowing that was only part of the brand. The worst of it, the part that still hurt, was what ran inside and he sure didn't wish that kind of agony on anyone, especially this beautiful young girl. He searched her dead eyes, seeking some spark of recognition. He found it. Hate, the same hate that had peered back at him for so many years, and he knew damn well who put it there.

With all his weight on his good leg, Johnny spun slowly around then leaned back heavily against the bar. He glared at Grayson perched on the edge of a table, watching, that sick smile of his stretched across his face. "You must be aching for me to kill you, because from where I'm standing, the man that did this to her deserves dying."

"From where you're standing?" Grayson's rich laugh bounced off the walls. "That's very funny. What you're doing," he waved a hand in Johnny's direction, "doesn't come close to standing, son." He wiped at his eyes and quickly turned serious. "You can look in a mirror before you start throwing words around like that. Reba's troubles are all your doing, no one else's."

"My doing?" Johnny shook his head.

"That's right, John." Grayson stood, tugging on those damn sleeves of his. "The blame for this falls squarely on your shoulders."

"I had nothing to do with this. And you know it."

"You are not ignorant, son," Grayson groaned. "Surely, you're aware of how many lives you have ruined. Do you honestly believe you can kill a man, even one deserving, without causing another to suffer? Death may cut the rope of that particular lost soul, but what of all those loose ends? Don't tell me you've never considered the consequences of your actions."

Those words clamped hard on his throat and Johnny dropped his head. "Of course I have."

"Then accept the consequences for your part in my Rebecca's death and the torment you have caused this unfortunate girl."

Johnny choked out a laugh and tilted his head to get a better look at the sorry excuse that stood before him. "It must a been you that killed her. 'Cause, near as I can figure, letting you live has to be about the biggest mistake of my life."

"And in due time you will be able to correct that mistake, but for now you must know I loved Rebecca." He moved unevenly toward the girl. "I could never have hurt her." His voice lost its honed edge as he pushed away a lock of hair from Reba's face. She nuzzled into his palm affectionately and Johnny felt his stomach buck.

"That's no way to treat a daughter."

Grayson never took his eyes off the girl. "And you would be right, of course." He gently lifted a handful of her hair to his nose and drew a deep breath before sweeping the strand back behind her shoulder. "But, after her unfortunate experience, she became very accepting of certain suggestions. And, as a result, became so much more than a daughter." His fingers moved to the collar of her shirt, and he looked to drift into memory, rubbing the golden cloth. "Reba, dear, go change out of these clothes, into something more suitable for the hour, we'll be done here soon enough."

She didn't move right away, instead she looked at Grayson and for a heartbeat the icy mask melted and her eyes came to life only to be filled with unbridled sadness. Her hands slid up Grayson's arms and she held his face pulling him in for a kiss. He allowed it for a time then pushed her back and whispered in her ear. Staring at each other, she shook her head. Grayson's thumbs brushed her cheeks as his fingers slipped past her ears into that thick mane of hair and gently pulled her close. They pressed their foreheads together then Grayson kissed her nose and tipped his head indicating it was time for her to go. Her fingers slid down his arm and grabbed hold of his hand as he pushed her away. Before turning to leave, she looked at Johnny and her face hardened, hate returning to the dead green stare, but a glint of light gave away the unshed tears that pooled in her lashes.

"If you loved her mother so much, why have you done that," Johnny waved a pointed finger in Reba's direction, "to her daughter?" His eyes followed the girl as she turned and walked away, the jingle of her spurs fading with each step. "And her son, or have you forgotten him?"

Grayson's forehead pinched and he moved into Reba's place at the bar. "That is exactly the reason I'm doing this."

"I have a hard time buying self sacrifice from you."

"And you would be right, self sacrifice does not suit me. But complete control does and if it can be combined with justice…"

"Justice? What do you know about justice?"

"Those drugs have truly fuddled your senses. I never knew you to be this dull-witted." Grayson sighed loudly. "I took three bullets that day, one I still carry with me. Eventually laudanum isn't enough and morphine becomes the answer to your prayers but, even that has its limitations. Then there is nothing, only pain."

"It is not my fault you got shot up. You cheated those men and they took their revenge. At the time I was sorry I wasn't there to stop them, but…"

"I hold no grudge for that unfortunate chain of events. No, it is this that I hate you for." Grayson reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed a piece of paper. "Though there was no hate until I realized it was all a lie. Do I need to refresh your memory?"

Johnny knew exactly what it was before it had been fully brought into the light. Slightly yellowed on the edges, the paper was stiff from having been wet, wet with blood now long dried to a rusty brown. He shook his head. "I did the best I could."

"John, John, John. The best you could? I don't recall ever telling you that was good enough. You succeeded or you died. There was no middle ground." The paper crackled as he unfolded it. He stood there looking at it, as of he'd never seen it before. There was no doubt what it said and Johnny ticked off the words in his head as Grayson read them. "I took care of them, Pa. You can rest easy. Madrid."

Their eyes met over the small sheet. "Never expected you to live; stuffed that note in your hand just to offer you some comfort. Figured someone would read it to you, and you could pass on in peace. That's all."

"That's all?"

"I planned on making it true, gettin' him, but things got kind a ugly and well," Johnny swallowed hard, it was the only time he'd left a job unfinished. "When things got better, I figured that coward would never stop running not after seeing what I done to his brothers."

"Ah, yes, a coward, that is exactly what he was. However, he was a patient coward. So he waited, probably figured he wouldn't have to wait long for a cocky kid to get gunned down in the street. Course he didn't know you were no normal kid. For three years he waited and he watched. And with each year his hatred grew. By the time stories reached the border that John Madrid had been captured and killed by a Mexican firing squad he was very close to madness."

~*~*~*~*~

She'd traveled in boats numerous times, and while others would turn several shades of green, she was never prone to the effects of the pitch and roll. Today, with four wheels planted firmly on solid ground, was a decidedly different matter. Swallowing repeatedly, Willie was grateful she'd eaten little. A furtive glance revealed, much to her relief, Teresa's attention was elsewhere. The last thing she needed was a lot of unwanted questions. Questions, she had scant need for Teresa's because she had plenty of her own. How was it possible? She was convinced of the fact that she would never be with-child. Had she ignored all the telltale signs? Or, had they only now decided to make themselves known? Gracious, how long could it be? Since before Scott traveled to Modesto. It wasn't like she could tell by her monthlies; they had never been that, not from the very beginning. It was common where she came from, many girls living near the coal mines remained barren. Of course, when she and David wed, and they decided to move away from that horrid place, there was hope, at least for a few years.

Her stomach had been excitable of late, but she'd chalked that up to her schoolgirl giddiness. Scott had well and truly grabbed hold of her heart, and the mere thought of him filled her belly with whirling butterflies. What else had she missed? She'd been tired, but that was only because the café was busier than what was typical, it's what triggered the need for a helping hand, and in walked Remy. She thought he was the answer to her silent prayers. Instead, he'd been sent by the devil himself, a devil named Grayson. It was hard to believe. She usually could size a person up pretty quickly, and she'd taken a liking to Remy right off, at least until he ruined nearly every cup and plate she owned.

"Do you smell that?" Teresa asked.

"Dear Lord, yes," Willie replied, moving her hand swiftly to her mouth fearful she would be sick.

The dark shape loomed in the road ahead and Teresa gasped. "It's Scott's horse." At the same moment Willie tugged back on the reins with one hand and, before the buckboard had come to a complete stop, bolted from her seat making haste for the bushes. She had the presence of mind to hang onto the trunk of a small tree so as not to tumble down the steep slope before spewing the meager contents of her stomach.

A gentle hand patted her back, and she straightened, still hanging on to her tree. A concerned look and a canteen dangled before her. "Lou thought of everything, Willie, even water," Teresa said, her lips pulled into a tight smile.

"Thank you," she nodded and brought the canteen to her lips. Rinsing her mouth, she spat it into the bushes. "I feel better now."

"Mind telling me what brought that on, or do I need to ask?"

"The smell, Teresa," she said, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt, she poured some water over it and handed the canteen back to Teresa. Using the cloth, Willie wiped at her mouth and ran it over the back of her neck.

"Willie, I know I may be crossing into… I mean, it may not be any of my…"

"Stop right there." The wet cloth hung limp in her hand. "Like I said, it was the smell, and the sight of Scott's horse. Seeing it like that, made it all became real." She straightened, gathered up her skirt and moved purposely toward the buckboard, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get going before that stench forces my stomach to rebel once more."

"That's pure nonsense and you know it." Teresa hurried after her, the canteen clattering against the buttons of her dress. "I've been watching you all day, Willie Dawson, and I can state with complete certainty that you are with-child." They stood side by side and Teresa placed a hand on Willie's arm. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. It is so very exciting, I mean Scott being a…" Her eyes grew wide. "It is Scott's, right?"

"My goodness, Teresa, what kind of books are you reading? You do let your imagination run wild."

"It is not my imagination that has run wild. I've seen the two of you, if you recall." She said with a smirk and a coy dip of her head. "But it doesn't explain you turning him down. What other reasons could you possibly have?"

"I have plenty of reasons, Teresa, and I can't think of one that concerns you. What I will tell you, is I love Scott, and if…" She felt the heave of her stomach and pushed away from Teresa, rushing back to her scrawny tree. This time there was nothing to rid and the repeated attempts provided little in the way of relief.

Leaning heavily on the tree she drew several sharp breaths. The first glint of daylight was returning color to the blackened landscape and Willie was certain she'd seen a flash of yellow in the branches below. "Who's down there?" She called out.

Teresa appeared rapidly by her side carrying a shotgun and a confident smile. "I told you, Lou thought of everything. What did you see?"

Willie pointed, "The bushes are moving and there - a flash of yellow."

"Show yourself. I know how to use this, and I'm a pretty fair shot." The sound of the gun being cocked followed.

"No need for that, I ain't gonna hurt no one." He held his hands in the air, the bright color of his shirt stood out against the gray of dawn.

"Remy? Is that you?"

"Yes, Ma'am, it's me." Looking more like a stray cat than a boy, he clamored up the slope on all fours with burrs caught in his shirt and hair. "Sure am sorry to frighten you," he huffed, nearing the top. "Was on my way to Spanish Wells, had some news for you. When I heard a wagon, I got nervous and made for the bushes next thing I knew I was sliding all the way to the bottom in the dark. Sure didn't expect to see no one out at this hour."

"Put that away, Teresa. He won't hurt us." Willie pushed at the shotgun barrel and, still clutching the tree, extended her hand to pull Remy up. "Do you have news? Of Scott? Is he safe?"

Remy took a minute to tug at a bramble caught in his hair. "He will be, had to make his way over some pretty rough ground wearing nothing on his feet but socks, so I reckoned his feet might be cut up by the time he gets to town, but he won't be dying or nothing."

"How do you know?" Teresa asked maneuvering the gun, aiming it once again at Remy's chest. "He's a liar, Willie. If he'd told the truth from the start this mess could have been avoided."

"Maybe I didn't tell you folks everything, but I didn't tell no lies." Remy looked from Teresa to Willie.

"You told the law you were kidnapped. What would you call that?"

The boy dipped his head and with the toe of his boot, dug a small rock from the dirt. "Oh, that. Suppose you got me there, but had good reasons."

"Good reasons, and that makes it okay?"

"Enough." Willie held her handkerchief over her nose. "Could we please carryon this discussion on our way to Green River?" She didn't want to look at the dead horse, but it was unavoidable, its half-eaten entrails littered the road. "Someone needs to tell Clayton at the livery to collect…" She sucked back another wave of nausea.

"Of course, Willie, we'll go." Teresa's shoulders relaxed slightly but she kept the gun directed at Remy. She motioned with the barrel for Remy to go first. "Are you sure you feel up to driving?"

"Yes, Teresa, I am more than capable," she replied, climbing into the wagon.

"Good, then Remy you sit next to Willie and I'll sit in the back. Remember, I know how to use this." She lifted the barrel slightly for emphasis.

A quick glance told Willie everyone was at least in the buckboard, though not settled. She didn't care, no one looked as if they'd fall out so, she yelled loudly to get the horses moving.

The abrupt start forced Remy into his seat. "You sure you don't want me to take up the reins? I'm mighty good at driving horses."

"No thank you, Remy. I'm just a bit anxious to put that behind me." She nodded toward the carcass. "And, if what you say is true, I need to see Scott. I need to see him before I can believe he is safe."

"Look, I know I ain't given you many reasons to trust me, but I'm telling you Scott is on his way to Green River, it's the God's honest truth."

Relief mixed with joy at the thought of seeing Scott in one piece, and the chance of meeting up with him on the road caused her heart to beat faster.

"I know you think my lie caused all this, but you don't know my pa," Remy continued. "He has a way of making things happen and it is always easier to go along it hurts a whole lot less. All I know for sure is there ain't nothing me, you, or nobody can do or say that will change that."

"That is all rather foreboding, Remy, and unbelievable if you ask me." Teresa said. "No one is that lucky."

"Oh, Miss Teresa, it has nothing to do with luck." He turned in his seat to get a better look at Teresa. "You ever play Faro?"

"Goodness, no. Why do you ask?"

"Because at the end of the game there are always three cards left. The players all know what cards they are and if you can call the order they're in, that's calling the turn, and it pays four dollars for every dollar you bet. Sounds pretty good, don't it?"

"Yes, it does, actually."

"The faro dealer, Pa, he sure don't think it sounds good, so he has a few tricks up his sleeve to make sure it never happens. Course there are times, say, if a man has something he wants. The best ones are when Reba lets it slip that pa is a cheat and tells the turn. The sucker bets big and loses every penny. Either way it's Pa who always calls the turn, and that goes for everything he touches."

Tbc


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

"I'm sorry for her but what that man did…" Johnny's head dropped against the weight of the raven black stare. "A man's actions are his own doing."

Grayson's laugh rubbed at the pit of his stomach, leaving it feeling raw. "You keep telling yourself that, John, and maybe you'll believe it before you die, but you better talk fast."

"Before I die?" Johnny snorted, "That something you plan on taking care of yourself? Can't say I remember you ever getting your hands dirty."

"I won't need to. There are others who will see it's taken care of."

"Will you ever stop using people? You're using Reba, and her brother, and that man Love, bet you're using him too, like you used Socorro and me and Mama." The faces of a few others scratched at his memory, some walked away most weren't so lucky. He swallowed hard putting his mama in that unlucky column. "Tell me, Grayson, How does it make you feel? Strong?" A chill shook him and a trickle of sweat traveled down the center of his back. Strong, what he wouldn't give to feel strong right about now. The need for a bit more was starting to pick at the base of his brain. Damn, he was so fucking tired.

"I? Used you?" Anger colored Grayson's face, and he pounded the bar with his fist. "I offered you a gift, a generous gift. And what did I ask for in return? Nothing!"

"You believe that?" Johnny shook his head. "I'll admit I hated Socorro, hell, I dreamed of the day I could watch him die, but I was a boy. A boy filled with hate because there wasn't a man alive that hadn't hurt my mother in one way or another."

"See? A gift, a desire fulfilled. I gave you a new start, taught you everything important in life, why without me…"

"You make me feel sick inside."

Grayson's lips slid into a knowing grin. "I believe that is the laudanum's call, son. Pity, yours is all gone."

A lump formed in his throat and he got an uneasy feeling, like realizing he'd used his last bullet. This wasn't good.

"There." Grayson's finger wagged in front of his face. "There's that flicker of hate I know so well. We both know, without it, you would have never been good for much. That's what's wrong with the boy. He doesn't have it but Reba… She shares so many of your special qualities." Grayson's eyes glinted with pride. "Too bad you let it slip away, you changed, and not for the better."

"You haven't. The devil will always have a tight hold on your balls. You couldn't change if you wanted to. But, it should please you to know, I do look forward to watching you suck your last breath."

Clapping his hands together Grayson crowed. "That is good news. I had hoped there would still be some fire in that belly of yours." His look of satisfaction faded and for the first time his arrow-straight back slumped. "There was a time, a time when I was happy and found pleasure in simple tasks rather than grand schemes. The funny part, it was you I thanked for that happiness as it is you I now blame for its destruction."

"If you're expecting me to care, you have a long wait." He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate, his mind turned in circles and each time around it settled on the same thing. Where could he find more?

"If not for Rebecca…"

Upstairs. His eyes traveled to the closed doors at the top of the stairs. Sadie was known to keep a bottle or two tucked under her mattress. But the sun wasn't up yet, and none of these girls stirred until well past noon. Dios is he still talking? What did he say about the note?

"…an honorable man because you thought enough to avenge my death. So, you see, your letter did give me the peace you desired. John, are you listening to me?" Grayson poked him hard in the ribs with his cane, and before he could pull it back Johnny grabbed hold, yanking Grayson in close.

"Don't you ever do that again, or it will be the last thing you do."

Grayson released the cane and put his hands in front of him, as if to surrender. "All I ask, is you make it quick."

"There you go, tempting me again."

"That is why I'm here, to offer you yet another gift, the opportunity to right your biggest mistake."

"As much as I'd enjoy that, I have no interest in hanging." Johnny removed his gun from its holster and made a point of placing it on the bar. "I stopped doing your dirty work long ago."

"Think what you want but you will, and you will hang. My only regret is I'll not be around to watch, but my reward will be adequate. And just think, you'll be releasing those poor, innocent children from my clutches. You'll die a hero."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Some things are worth dying for, son. Some secrets are best taken to the grave."

"I have no secrets. My family knows everything about me."

"Now that is touching, no secrets you say? Allow me to set you straight." He puffed out his chest looking every bit the proud father. "I have to admit, the thought of this all playing out gives me chills, I cannot think of a more fitting way to end my life. You do realize Reba is very good at what she does, like you were, and by the time your father discovers the body, Stu's body, it will be burned beyond recognition. The obvious will be assumed and a distraught and broken man will return to find his other son deep in the grip of a laudanum stupor, or better yet, I have plenty of morphine I could offer you. And you think laudanum feels good. But I digress. Your dear father will be lost in despair, at his lowest point, and then I will tell him, tell him of his unborn child."

Johnny felt his gut squeeze. He decided, a year ago, there would be only one secret he'd take to his grave. No good could come from the telling.

"It took so little effort on my part, blue cohosh root, pennyroyal leaves and a few other items mixed into a tea. I didn't even need to bring her the cup, her 'sweet little Johnny' was more than willing. What were you, almost three? In the end, all we left behind was a white sheet stained with red. One less half-breed in this world."

******

With the brightening sky, Murdoch could see Val as he moved further ahead. The sheriff's eyes remained fixed on the road, making it clear he had no idea his partner had lagged behind. There was no reason for him to notice. It wasn't as if they'd been locked in conversation, in fact, it had been quite the opposite. Not a word had been exchanged between them, since they'd reached level ground and Scott began his push for Green River. The looks they traded said all that needed to be said.

Murdoch took note of when the sheriff came to realize he was alone. Val slowed, turned his head to one side then the other and his shoulders slumped. "Sorry, didn't mean ta do it again," he shouted over his shoulder. "Reckon my feet keep moving at the same speed my brain is working."

"I understand, Val." Murdoch answered, continuing to push forward. "My thoughts aren't focused on walking either. How long, before Scott reaches town, do you think?"

"He ain't riding the wind, not with those feet and a bum leg, so I figure a half hour, maybe a little more. And at the rate we're going, we probably won't round that bend til sometime after noon."

"I'm slowing you down, Val, and I don't like it. I think you should go on ahead."

"Nope." Val shook his head. "Can't convince me that's a good plan."

"Someone will come along," Murdoch said, resting a hand on the lawman's shoulder. "And if not, I'm in familiar territory. What can happen?" He tried a big reassuring smile.

"Humph, familiar territory my ass. Look what happened ta Scott in familiar territory. No, we best stick together."

"Listen to me. Scott's in no shape to do much once he arrives. And if it weren't for his feet I think we would have agreed to send you in first."

"Don't you think I know that? I got a heap a bad feelings about what's going on. Keep turning things over in my head and am kicking myself for not heading back into town first off. But then, another part of me is sure glad I was there, with you, when we rode up on that fire." He squinted and rubbed at the stubble along his jaw. "A man shouldn't be alone for something like that."

Murdoch nodded. "I agree and am glad you were there. Of course I'm also relieved Scott decided to turn back, otherwise…" He swallowed back the memory.

Val turned his back and looked in the direction of town. "I'll go."

"Thank you, Val. I can't shake the feeling that Johnny needs you and Scott now, as much as I needed the two of you back there."

"Ain't making no promises," Val said, without turning around.

"I know that, and I wouldn't expect you to. But I'll feel a lot better knowing you're there trying."

Without another word Val stepped away. Murdoch watched as the sheriff's shadow grew long in the light cast by the first rays of the sun. "Will this day ever end?" Murdoch asked himself then chuckled at the absurdity of the question. The sun hadn't shown its full face, and it was already one of the longest days of his life.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking when the rumble of a wagon pulled him from his worrisome thoughts. Lifting his head, he could no longer see Val, instead, the morning light pierced his eyes, forcing them shut. Looking back he could see the horse rounding the bend and moved closer to the side of the road. The wagon careened past him before coming to a stop.

"Murdoch?" The female voice caught him by surprise. Removing his hat, he held it to the sun and could finally make out the figures in the buckboard.

"Teresa? Willie? Is that you?" he asked.

"Yes, Murdoch, are you all right?" Willie hopped from the wagon, her face looking older than he recalled. "The sun… I couldn't see." She hurried toward him and began dusting at his clothes. "Did I knock you down? Are you hurt?"

"No, Dear, I'm fine." He looked down and, for the first time, realized his shirt was singed and his pants were blackened.

Teresa called from the wagon. "Murdoch, are you sure? You don't look fine to me."

His eyes traveled upward past Willie's concerned face to Teresa's. "Yes, I'm sure. What are you three doing out here?" He pressed his palm into the small of Willie's back indicating the need to move. "Teresa, why are you pointing that rifle at Remy?"

"Murdoch. Do you really need to ask after everything that's happened?"

He shook his head. "No, I suppose not, but I'm not sure it's necessary now that I'm here. But if you insist, you'll be able to put it away once we pick up Val. He shouldn't be too far ahead."

"Val too? What happened? Where are your horses and more importantly where is Scott?" Willie asked as Teresa nodded.

"Scott is safe," he said, offering Willie a hand into the wagon. "There will be plenty of time for answers on our way to Green River. I admit, I'm relieved to see you, but would you mind telling me what you ladies were thinking? You have no business being out here, by yourselves."

"It was Willie's idea. I tried to talk her out of it."

"Is that so." Murdoch walked to the other side of the wagon, climbed into the driver's seat and took up the reins. He studied Willie's profile. She was concentrating on the frayed edge of a handkerchief she held in her hands. He'd witnessed her stubborn streak a time or two and imagined it was one of the things that his son found both endearing and exasperating.

"I don't wait well," Willie said, not looking up.

"It's never easy." Murdoch answered, with a sharp snap of the lines. "Are you okay Willie, you look a little… unwell."

"I'll be fine. Now that I know Scott's safe, it's just that… his horse… it was still in the road, and…"

"It smelled and was half eaten and it made her sick," Remy piped in.

Willie turned to look at Murdoch, "So, Scott is alright? Not hurt?"

"His feet are cut up but given a little time he should be fine." He smiled, feeling her concern and welcoming it. He hoped she and Scott could get past their sticking point and move forward. He liked Willie.

"Oh, thank goodness. That's exactly what Remy said."

"He did?" Murdoch turned to look at the boy. Remy squirmed and looked away. "We should come up on Val soon, I'm sure he'll be interested in how you knew that bit of information, Remy."

"See? See why I don't trust him?"

Without turning around Murdoch smiled. "Yes, Teresa, your concern has merit. It's what I'd expect from Paul's daughter."

"And I'd expect for you to have your horse. What happened, Murdoch?" Teresa asked.

"My horse ran off and Scott is riding Val's and… It is a long story."

"By the looks of you, I'd say it must be a very long story," Willie said as she rubbed at his cheek with her handkerchief. "I hope I'll be able to hear it sometime."

He covered her small hand with his and gave it a pat. "I'm sure you will." He heard the hitch in his voice. The memory, Scott's burning body, will be a part of his nightmares for years to come. And, even though the ending was far beyond anything he could have hoped for, the gaping hole he'd felt in his chest was still there. Wounds like that don't heal in the snap of a finger, not when fear for his other son was still clawing at it.

"Murdoch, when was the last time you slept? You look exhausted."

"Hmmm? Exhausted? Yes well, I suppose that comes with worry." He looked at Willie and noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes. "I guess I don't need to tell you that." He watched her shake her head then turned his eyes back toward the road, not wanting to reveal too much of what happened on that ridge, not until they could determine what Remy knew. He had to admit, it was troubling that he knew anything at all about Scott's condition.

Ahead, the road curved to the left, and beyond the bend was Val. The sheriff stopped at the sound, looked at Murdoch and signaled for them to keep moving. "Ain't you one lucky son of a gun gettin' a ride right out a the gate like you did." He spoke as he walked alongside the slowing wagon. "Keep this thing moving, I'll hop in the back."

Murdoch felt the jounce and knew the lawman was on board. He snapped the reins once, then again, trying to get a bit more speed out of the solitary horse. Five people were more than this old girl was up for, but it was still faster than walking. Turning in his seat, he noticed Val pull the shotgun out of Teresa's hands and positioned himself between her and the boy. "Don't think you'll be needin' this anymore."

"I suppose you're right but, don't take your eyes off him for a minute, Val. He knew, he knew exactly how Scott was hurt."

"Is that a fact?"

Murdoch wished he could see the look on Val's face at that moment, but he had a pretty good idea.

"Look at you." Val let out a long low whistle that reminded Murdoch of Johnny. "All smarted up. That is one mighty fine looking shirt. Too bad it got all…. What'd you do, take a little tumble?"

"Something like that," Remy replied.

"Now what the heck color would you call that? Me? I wouldn't be caught dead in somethin' bright like that. I'd wager it's something Johnny would wear though. And would those be conchos running down those pant legs? Dog gone it, all you need is some spurs and someone could almost mistake you for Johnny, in the dark that is. That what you wanted, Kid, someone to think you was Johnny?"

"No, not me, but my sister, she thought it would be funny. Called the color maize and sewed these here buttons on my pants. Only thing, they ain't real, I mean you can't unbutton them, they're for decoration and the like."

"She didn't happen to make you some jingling spurs, did she?"

"She's good with a needle and thread, that's all. Why would I wear spurs? I ain't no good on the back of a horse. Wish I was. Then when I seen that horse speed by me maybe I could a caught it and been back in town long ago."

"So you were on that ridge?"

"Yes, Sir, I was."

"Mind tellin' me why?"

"I was taking a walk, thinking things through. See Mr. Lancer there, he got me to thinking."

"And what did Mr. Lancer get you to be thinking about? Huh?"

"My sister. Up to now, I always figured she liked the way things were. I mean our Pa never hits her or nothing, always treats her real sweet. But, Mr. Lancer, he said, there's other ways to hurt people and…. Oh, I don't know, he was real good to her after Mama died, gentle, knew what she needed. But now, Reba ain't the same. I guess, after what happened to her, it's to be expected. Leastwise, that's what everyone in town used ta say after shaking their heads and whispering 'poor dear'."

*******

Scott's eyes strained against the darkness. The church steeple, he had to see it soon, he knew he was getting close. At first he wasn't sure, maybe it was wishful thinking, then the soft outlines began to appear becoming more defined, he was almost there. With a shift in his seat and a soft bump of his leg the horse reacted and picked up its pace through the final stand of trees.

One by one the rooftops came into view, then entire buildings, the last to reveal itself was the street and though still some distance away what he saw caused his stomach to clench. He pushed his mount faster. Something wasn't right. There was too much going on. He couldn't make out more than movement, but at this hour there should have been none. With each stride, more came into view. People, too many people, gathered in small groups. Closer still, he could make out Burgess, the bank teller, by his sheer bulk. He was talking to two women, unrecognizable from this distance. Even at a gallop it was taking too long, all he was able to do was watch as more and more people gathered.

A few people were looking in the door of the saloon and then he saw Love being hurried out of the hotel, pulling on his coat and rushing across the street. "Burgess," Scott called out, but he didn't hear, the man went on talking. He was close now, he slowed the horse to a walk. He wanted to jump off and run into the saloon, but with his feet he knew he couldn't get very far so he picked his way through the gathering crowd, trying to get as close as possible to the door. "Burgess," he shouted, louder this time. The man looked up. "What's going on? What happened?"

"You best get in there Scott, Sadie here, she was inside when it happened, the gun, the young girl screaming. It was Johnny and that gamb…" Scott didn't listen to the rest, his injured leg buckled as he leapt from the horse but he quickly recovered. Pushing at the backs of the people gathered Scott burst through the saloon doors.

Tbc


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Just inside the Painted Lady, Tom stood with his back to the street. His head came up with the slap of the doors. "We're closed," he said as he whirled around. Large hands slammed into Scott's chest. The jolt caused his leg to give way, he was going down. Tom's eyes grew wide with recognition, and he grabbed hold. "Scott, I didn't…"

Needles of pain traveled up his legs, but he fought against it, struggled to maintain his one train of thought. "Johnny," he panted. "Where's Johnny?"

"The bar," Tom said with a tip of his head. His voice was soothing but the look on his face did nothing to cut through the panic that welled in Scott's stomach. Resting a hand on the saloon keeper's arm, he took a moment to regain his footing and peered into the darkened room. Little of the day's gray light had filtered through the smoke stained windows and he strained to see. His first steps were ungainly, and he stumbled. The resulting pitch brought his hands to rest on a sticky table and his eyes on the face of a young woman. He didn't recognize her, yet knew instantly who she was. Her eyes, rimmed red, spoke of tears. The brief lock of their stare stole his breath but it didn't stop there, her beauty robbed him of all conscious thought, until his pain restored his senses and he lurched forward.

Johnny, he saw Johnny on the floor, back propped against the bar. He drank from a silver flask that glinted in the meager light. "Johnny," he called but the name caught in this throat. Dropping to his knees, he reached out to shake his brother's one booted foot. There was no reaction. Scott crawled up beside him, running his hands over the blood stained shirt searching for an injury. His hands were batted away.

"It's not mine."

"What?"

"The blood, it's not mine."

Scott felt the burden of fear lift. "You're alright then?"

Johnny pushed back against the bar with a grimace, but not once did their eyes meet. "Didn't say that, just said the blood ain't mine."

The rush in his ears swallowed up the sounds of the street. He eyed Johnny. His hands shook as he as took another sip from the flask. The fear returned. Johnny was decidedly not alright.

Shoulder to shoulder, he settled beside his brother. What was he supposed to do now? There was no bleeding, no call to action. All he could do was sit here, and that didn't feel like nearly enough. He watched as Johnny's fingers traced the "G" engraved on the flask. Blood, there was blood on his hands. Scott didn't like the thoughts that brought to mind so he closed his eyes and allowed himself the indulgence of his own pain. He listened to the beat of his heart and the soft mournful sobs of the girl. The girl. He couldn't bring himself to think of her as more than that. Giving her a name might mean he'd have to take pity on her, and he had no room for that.

Sharp rasping breaths shattered his thoughts, causing him to wonder why he'd not heard them before. He opened his eyes and for the first time looked past Johnny. He knew what he'd see, the sight he'd both dreamed of and dreaded. Grayson lay sprawled on the floor, not more than a few feet away. Love leaned over him, his ear pressed close to the man's mouth. He nodded as he listened then placed a hand on each side of Grayson's face and looked him in the eyes. "Yes, but the law is quite clear on these matters. Now hang on, we've sent for the doctor." A smile appeared on Grayson's face and Scott felt an icy chill travel up his back. As far as he was concerned, who ever took this vermin out deserved a medal of honor, and he silently prayed it had gone down as a fair fight.

Blood oozed from a hole in Grayson's chest despite Love's efforts to keep it at bay with a bar rag. It was obvious the man's lungs were still fighting by the way the blood bubbled, but the eyes, the black eyes, told the tale of a dead man, one no longer seeing things in the here and now. He'd seen that look more than once, and knew Love was wasting his time.

His eyes scanned the floor for a gun, any gun besides Johnny's. The beat of his heart thundered in his ears when he found one, only one. It lay at the end of a trail of blood, under a chair half way across the room. Feeling the need for a drink, Scott reached out to pull the flask from Johnny's hands.

"Believe me; you don't want what's in here," Johnny said.

"No, I don't suppose I do." But, damn, he wasn't ready to let go. "Is that smart? Do you really think…?"

"Don't, Scott."

"Johnny, you're not giving me much to work with here. What am I supposed to do?"

Pulling his hand away, Johnny stuffed the cork back into the flask and released a long slow breath. "Just be here, be here until it's over."

"That goes without saying, Brother, I'm not going anywhere."

A small smile curled the corner of Johnny's mouth but not once did their eyes meet. That meant Johnny was hurting and the hurt went a whole lot deeper than his broken bone. He winced at the sight of the swollen foot, stretching the sock to its limit. "That should be elevated, it might ease the pain."

"What pain?" Johnny asked lifting the flask. His eyes traveled to Grayson. The man was nearing the end, each wheeze and catch of breath was shorter, the silences longer until there was nothing but silence. One by one the bubbles of blood, on his chest, thinned and popped. The air filled with the stench of piss.

Love removed a piece of paper from Grayson's hand then pushed to his feet. The girl's sobs grew louder, and she squirmed to free herself from the arms of one of Tom's ladies, Florence maybe. She broke away and fell to her knees sobbing over Grayson. Love stuffed the paper in his pocket and bent to offer her a feeble pat on the back. He shook his head as he looked at Johnny. "See what you've done? And to think, that man's final words were of forgiveness. That, Mr. Lancer, is something you will not get from me. Rest assured the letter of the law will be carried out."

Johnny's profile gave nothing away. He wasn't talking, only offered a nearly imperceptible nod as he looked at Love.

The girl's crying quieted, giving way to the halting gasps that come from too many tears. Florence pried her away from the… What? The word body was too kind for what Grayson was. Corpse? No. Cadaver? No. Carcass? That seemed appropriate.

"Hush, child, hush," Florence said, leading her back to the table. She pressed her into a chair and stooped in front of her, petting her hair and wiping at her tears.

"W-w-why? Why'd he – he –he kill Pa?" Her words slipped between heaves of breath making them hard to understand.

"There there, child, best not worry yourself with such things. What you need is your brother. Just where do you think he's gone off to this time?"

"D-don't-t-t know." Her sobs crescendoed and Scott found his impatience growing with each wail. He couldn't help the feeling she was putting on quite a show. And now Remy was nowhere to be found? He may not know his whereabouts at the present time, but Scott had a pretty good idea where Remy had been during the night.

"Looks to me like you could use a drink, Sweetie. What do ya say?"

The girl nodded then sobbed some more. She wiped at her tears, leaving behind streaks of blood.

"Hell, I think everyone could stand a drink. That okay with you, Tom?"

Tom nodded his head and Florence hurried off in the direction of the bar. Her bare heel tracked in the blood, leaving behind perfect red circles as she walked away.

His eyes trailed back to the girl. She was slouched in her chair, her hair hanging in front of her face, examining her bloody hands. Grayson's blood left no one untouched. She must have felt his stare because she looked up, gathered her hair, and pulled it back behind her shoulders. The movement revealed her nightdress, wet with his blood. The linen clung to her breasts... He knew he'd allowed his eyes to linger too long and in embarrassment looked away, but not before catching the briefest of smiles flit across her lips.

Love shifted his weight and Scott looked up at the man towering over them. His fingers twirled the end of his beard, dotting the graying tip with red. More blood. He dismissed the idea of telling him. "We have nothing to say to you, Love, so perhaps, you have something else to do..." He nodded toward the girl, hoping to get him to move along. He sighed out when it didn't work.

"Ah, yes, there was that matter of a missing Lancer. I see you have been found and are still breathing so, no harm done?" Love bent over and with a tsk tugged on the makeshift bandages.

Scott's leg jerked and a hiss escaped his lips at the raw pain.

"Well it appears there was some harm, sorry about that. When the doctor arrives, I'll make sure he gets a look at you since his services are no longer required by Mr. Gray, there." He tipped his head.

"You're too kind, Mr. Love." He managed to keep his voice even through the pain. "You really shouldn't go out of your way like that." A sharp nudge to his ribcage caught his attention and Johnny was looking at him, wearing one of his customary grins. This one, like so many others, never reached his eyes.

"You two enjoy your little laugh. But, remember, I warned you, Mr. Lancer, warned you to the consequences of your threats. And with a witness, who is the fool now?" Love turned, walked across the room and bent to pick up the gun, Johnny's gun. He allowed it to dangle from his fingers. "I think I'll hang on to this. Evidence, you know." He walked toward the door then stopped and peered over his shoulder. "I expect you two to be here when I return." He spun back around and strode from the saloon. A few people tried to get in but Tom pushed them back.

Still smiling, Johnny leaned in close, his eyes glassy and red. "Don't know where the hell he thinks either of us would go, Scott. Ain't too sure I could stand and your feet must be in a world a hurt." He dropped his head. "Sorry about that. It was one of Grayson's favorite games. If my brain was working, maybe I could a figured it out."

"Johnny, none of this is your fault."

"Hmmmm, not my fault. I like that. Your Honor, it just wasn't my fault." Johnny laughed. "That's a good one, Scott. I'll have to remember it."

"You don't have to be so sarcastic, this is serious. Care to tell me what went on?"

The smile wilted and his eyes moved to follow Florence as she padded back across the floor. Tucked under one arm was a bottle, in her hand a pitcher. The other arm cradled a wooden bowl full of clattering glasses resting atop a stack of cloth.

"Does it matter?"

"I think it does."

"One gun, one dead man. Think that about covers it."

"What's that's supposed to mean? I know he was despicable, but his life certainly isn't worth yours."

Johnny turned his head but his eyes lingered on Florence as she fussed with the girl. "Some things are just worth dying for, Brother."

"You aren't just giving up? That's not like you."

"Ain't giving up, but I, sure as shit, don't need to tell you there are times when all you can do is play the hand you been dealt."

A shadow fell across Johnny's face and Scott looked up to see Florence standing over them. She shook her head as she handed him a shot of whiskey. "Don't mean to be buttin' in where I don't belong but now ain't the time for that kind a talk. He just ain't up for it, Sweetie. He's in a bad way, if ya know what I mean."

"I believe I do." He nodded his thanks and swallowed the harsh whiskey, it burned and he liked it. She refilled his proffered glass. "Florence, did you see what happened?"

"Me? Hell no, was sound asleep til I heard the child scream and then a shot. Pulled on what I could and came running. There she was, sobbing to wake the dead. Pounding her fists into Johnny there and kicking him and he didn't do a damn thing, didn't hit her or push her hands away, nothing', just slid himself down to the floor like ya see him. Tom was first, he come running from the kitchen and pulled the girl off a him. All the time she's asking why, why, why'd ya shoot my Pa."

"Sobbin' to wake the dead" Johnny laughed. "I like that. Too bad it didn't work, make this a lot less messy. Sure did wake just about everyone else though, huh Flo?"

"Ya, Johnny, it sure did." She squatted down close to him and grabbed hold of his chin. "You best get some sleep you look like shit and are in no shape to be talkin'. You hear me?"

Johnny's nod was more a drop of his head. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Now, I need to get her cleaned up. If either of you need anything just holler."

"Will do, Flo. Oh, maybe you could send Sadie on in. Gettin' a little empty." He waved the flask back and forth.

"Yeah, Johnny, I'll do that." She looked at Scott and shook her head as she walked away.

"Johnny, is more the answer? Seems to me a little less and maybe you wouldn't be… I mean I don't think…"

"Then don't, Scott. I don't need you second guessing me."

"Damn it, Johnny, someone has too. Look at you."

"Right now what I need is to know about Murdoch. Did he find you?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Am I?" The way I see it, we were done. Now I'm asking about Murdoch." Johnny sat up and dropped a hand onto Scott's shoulder. "Tell me, Scott. Tell me he knows you're alive. It would tear him up inside if he thinks you were burned up in that cabin."

"He knows, Johnny. He knows. I caught up to them at the cabin. I think he thought he was seeing a ghost when I stumbled out of the smoke."

Johnny gave his cheek a soft pat. "That's good, that's real good."

"I take it you know about Stu?"

"Yup, I know all about Stu. Think I'll drink to the fucking bastard." He lifted the flask in salute then drank until it was gone.

They're on their way, and when they get here Val will know what to do. He always knows what to do." He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince his brother or himself. The look on Johnny's face caused him to wonder what exactly Grayson had said and done. The way Johnny was right now there was no telling the damage he'd done. "Don't believe one thing that bastard said to you Johnny. We're all going to be here." He reached out and mussed Johnny's hair before pulling him in close for a moment then Johnny pulled away, leaned back against the bar and closed his eyes.

"Now just you wait a God damn minute, boy. No one's going in until I get a chance to look around so Git the hell outta my way."

That voice could only belong to one man. He looked at Johnny, there was no reaction.

"And what in tarnation do you think you're doing with those, Love?" Something rattled and then he could hear the squeak of the doors. "I should put these on you, since you stand a better chance of running away than Johnny. Don't you have any common sense in that loco head a yours?"

"The state's recommended procedure for arresting a suspected murderer is restraint."

"Restraint. Restraint. He ain't gonna run away he's got a bum leg, or did you forget about that?"

"No, I didn't forget, but the recommended procedure is…"

"Restraint. I heard ya, Love. Why don't ya make yourself useful and head on over to my office, there are a couple of ladies there and I'm sure they could use a cup a coffee or something. You do know how to make coffee, don't you?"

"I know exactly what went on here, Sheriff Crawford, so don't attempt to sweep any of this under the rug."

"I do my job. That is if jackasses like you stay outta my way."

The doors slapped shut.

"Tom, I'll need a few minutes to look around then you can let in Murdoch and the boy. Now who's been in here?"

"The ladies come down at the noise but I had Flo push them through the door. So only Johnny and the girl were here when it happened. Then me and Flo. Mr. Love came in next then Scott showed up a bit ago and that's it, excepting Mr. Gray of course."

"Where's Johnny?"

"We're here, Val." Scott pushed up as tall as he could, but his leg had stiffened up on him and his feet throbbed with the slightest movement. "Glad you made it. Murdoch?"

"He's coming, didn't want the women in here so he brought them to my office."

"Women?"

"Teresa and Willie. Long story." His eyes were on Johnny, his angry face turned to one of concern.

"I think he's out. Wouldn't surprise me, he's been drinking out of that flask."

Val crouched down and slipped the bottle from Johnny's limp fingers. He sniffed the opening and pinched up his face. "It's laudanum." He sniffed again "And whiskey." He reached up and put it on the bar. "Johnny. Can ya hear me, Johnny?" He slapped his face lightly. "Johnny."

TBC


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

"Damn, he's out cold." Val said as he leaned back on his haunches. "We need to get him out a here and I sure as shit ain't dragging him across that street, not with all those folks gawkin'. Like this is any of their God damn business."

Scott looked over at Johnny and his stomach tightened. Sweat was starting to form on his brow and upper lip. He took hold of his brother's wrist and felt for his pulse. "Is Sam here? Shouldn't he take a look at him? I mean what if he's had too much?"

Sam ain't coming, something about an explosion at the mine. It'll be days 'fore he's back." Val pressed his fingers against Johnny's neck. "Shit, maybe we better try and make him puke. You sayin' he drank that whole thing?" He waved his hand in the direction of the flask.

"Well, that and whatever Stu gave him for the trip into town."

"Shit." Val stood. "Tom, we need salt and water, warm if ya got it."

"Sure thing," Tom said, moving away from the door. The sounds from the people in the street grew louder. "We're closed," he snapped but the murmurs continued. "What'll I do about them, Val?"

"Go, Tom, I got this." Val huffed as he rose to his feet. He stormed to the door. "Don't you have something better ta do, God damn it. I ain't asking. I'm tellin'. Now git." Scott heard the flap of the doors. "Lucas, Lucas Fltetcher," Val called out. "Got a job for you, get over here."

Scott couldn't hear what the kid said but he did know the boy, not a big kid but about as scrappy as they came.

"School kin wait," Val said. "I need ya to be my deputy for a spell, you up for that?" Val waited a beat. "Figured you would. I'll pay ya two bits to keep these folks away from the doors. There's only one man you can let in and that's Mr. Lancer. You know who he is right, Lucas?"

"Course I do, Sheriff"

"Cuz if ya don't do your job ya don't get paid. Got it?"

"Sure, I got it."

"Good," said Val. He walked back inside and straight towards the bar.

"Salt? Are you sure it will work?"

"It'll work, Scott, I've seen it in action."

"Mr. Lancer just left your office, Sheriff, and is headed this way."

"Thanks, Lucas, he can come in, remember."

"Here ya go, Val." Tom carried a dish of salt and a kettle of water. "Hope you don't mind, but I let the kid in the back. He really wanted to see his sister. Didn't much care about seeing Mr. Gray, here. Can't say that I blame him none."

Murdoch burst through the doors and covered the distance across the room before the doors fell silent. He fell to his knees beside Johnny. "Why isn't anyone doing anything?" he asked unbuttoning his shirt. "Where's he hurt?"

"He ain't hurt, Murdoch. Least not where it shows." Val moved in close and spoke in a low voice. "It's the laudanum, Sir."

"It's that bad? I mean… I never…"

Scott put a hand on Murdoch's shoulder. The older man looked up, fear darkening his eyes. It was clear he had never witnessed the negative effects of laudanum. "We need to get him upstairs. Love wants him in jail…"

"Damn it, that's the last place he belongs, look at him." Murdoch scooped Johnny up, his head lolled to one side and Murdoch hoisted him higher so it rolled back to rest against his chest. He started up the stairs. "Where, Tom? Which room?"

"Take the girl's room in front, it's the biggest. Top of the stairs, back toward the street." Scott watched the two of them as they moved up the stairs. Johnny's arm dangled limp as a hickory switch.

"Gimme those." Val grabbed the dish and kettle from Tom. "One of us will be right back to help ya, Scott," he said grabbing a glass then, taking the stairs two at a time. He caught up with Murdoch just as he turned the corner and vanished from sight.

"Damn." Scott struggled to get his good knee under him. He put a hand on the edge of the bar using it for support. Tom's arm wrapped around his chest and he was hoisted into a nearby chair.

"Thanks." His eyes focused on the empty top stair. He wanted to be up there.

"Scott," Tom said. "I'm sorry, real sorry."

The voice pulled his mind away but his eyes remained fixed on the stairs. "What have you got to be sorry for, Tom?"

"I never should have left 'em alone, sure didn't figure one of them would end up dead and I had no idea Johnny was in…" He paused for a minute and Scott turned to look at him. "I didn't know he was an eater, never would a figured it from him. If I'd known, maybe…"

"Tom, it's done. I have a feeling your being here would have made little difference toward the eventual outcome. What's important now is your word, your word that no one hears about Johnny's… condition. He's exhausted and in a great deal of pain, nothing more. Have I made myself clear?"

"Don't worry, Scott, no one will hear it from me or Florence. I'll see to it."

The unmistakable sound of retching reached his ears, and even though he knew how miserable Johnny had to be, at the moment, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease. Maybe Val did know what he was talking about.

"Mr. you ain't allowed in." Lucas' voice came from outside.

"Do you have any idea who I am, Boy?"

The tension returned. Love was back.

"No, I don't, Sir, but I sure know who you ain't. You ain't Mr. Lancer and that was the only person I was ta let in. Sheriff's orders. " Scott could hear the pride in the boy's voice.

You can let him in, Lucas." Scott said.

"But…"

"I'll make sure you get your two bits, don't worry." With that the boy stepped aside and Love marched in. "I thought you were supposed to be making tea, Mr. Love." Finding humor in the mental image, he tried to suppress the smile that pulled at his lips.

"It was coffee."

"My mistake."

"I fail to find the humor in any of this, Mr. Lancer. A man is dead."

"I get the clear impression you find humor in very little, Mr. Love. But you are correct. There is nothing funny here today."

"Good we are in agreement." Love looked about the room. "Where is your brother? I take it we are not in agreement as to where he belongs. I assumed he would be locked in a cell by now."

"He's up here. And that's where's he's staying til he's feelin' better." Val stood at the top of the stairs and began his descent.

"That, Sheriff Crawford, is unorthodox and you know it."

"I may not know what un-orth-adox is but I do know it ain't against the law and I also know he's feelin' poorly what with that broke leg a his."

"No, he's feeling poorly because he's had too much to drink. I watched him sit on that boardwalk and drink." Love's arms waved in the air, first in the direction of outside then towards the bar. "And I saw him drinking the moment I walked in here. Believe me, Sheriff Crawford," his hands landed on his hips. "Many a town drunk has been thrown in jail to sleep it off. I see no reason why exceptions should be made for drunks named Lancer."

"It don't matter the reason, he's sick." The gut wrenching sound traveled down the stairs again, making Val's point in a rather timely fashion. "And I for one ain't having him puke all over my jail cell, so unless you plan on cleaning it up I suggest you shut your damn trap."

Love's hands slid from his hips. "I hope you understand. I'm not trying to be unreasonable. My only intention is to see the law upheld and that the victim gets treated with the proper respect."

"The victim is dead. Ain't nothing we kin do for him, but…"

"Believe me, Mr. Love," Scott interrupted. "That man will be given every ounce of the respect he deserves." Of course, in his mind that meant being dragged out of town and left for the animals to pick apart.

"Good. Another point of agreement, that's good to hear. Perhaps I should get the undertaker. I'm sure the proprietor would like to reopen his establishment."

"Not until I get a chance to look around he ain't." Val sighed and his shoulders drooped. "Look, Love, why don't ya take a seat I'll be back down in a few minutes and we'll try to figure out what happened… together." It was obvious by the way Val's jaw tightened that the last word was particularly difficult for the lawman to say.

"I would like to understand your methods, Sheriff. I assume you do have some. I've taken copious notes and have even drawn a diagram. They're in your office, I'll be right back." He hurried out the door.

"No rush," Val said but Love was already halfway across the street. "Damn fool."

"Looks like you've a new deputy, Val. The two of you should be very happy together."

"Shut up." Val scowled. "Let's get you upstairs and Tom…" Val shouted, not realizing Tom stood directly behind him.

"Yup."

Val spun at the response. "We're gonna need coffee, lots a coffee. And it better be strong."

"Already started. I'll bring it up first thing."

"Thanks," Val said as he picked up the cane Johnny had been using. Oh, and Tom… knock and leave it outside the door."

"Whatever you say, Val."

"Let's do this, Scott." He passed over the cane. "Once we get you upstairs, I can… hmmph"

"What, Val?"

"Your feet, they need ta be tended to. Planned on sendin' over Teresa or Miss Willie but I'm not sure you want either of them seeing Johnny like he is."

"Right now, just help me up stairs. My feet can wait. He can't."

The stairs were the easy part, between the cane, the railing and Val. The hallway proved trickier, and infinitely more painful. He tried to bury it as best he could. The door to the room was slightly ajar and Val kneed it open. Scott flopped onto the closest bed. It ran against the wall in the oversized room. He dragged himself to its head pulling the pillow out of the way and stuffing it under his throbbing feet. Val remained in the doorway.

A sodden Johnny was seated in a straight back chair in the center of the room. Seated, was being generous, his elbows were on his knees and he held his head between his hands.

"He's wet." Scott observed.

Murdoch stood behind him rubbing his back. "Yes, he is. Val…"

"I doused him. It got the job done. Needed something to wake him up so he'd drink that damn shit."

Johnny's back arched as another spasm gripped his stomach; the heaves produced nothing to speak of.

"I think he's got most of it up. Now he's just miserable," Murdoch said looking into the basin that lay on the floor at Johnny's feet.

"Not enough," Val said, peering into the same bowl. He walked over and placed two fingers under Johnny's chin, lifting his head. "How ya doin'?"

Johnny tried to push Val away but on the occasions his arms did connect there wasn't enough behind them to have any effect. After several tries, he quit and started laughing. His head rolled back and he looked at Val, blinking. "Stand still, why don't ya." The smile slipped from his face and Johnny bent forward. Val stepped away before he was hit by this episode's successful results.

"Guess that answers my question." Val looked at Murdoch. "I gotta get downstairs, 'fore Love comes lookin' for me."

"Yes, his new partner is anxious to share what he knows, diagrams and all." Scott hissed as he began to peel the bandages back from his feet.

"Scott, they're going to need to be soaked off," Murdoch said then he dropped a hand onto Johnny's shoulder as he attempted to get up. "Johnny. Stay where you are."

"Need to lie down, don't feel so good."

Murdoch looked at Val who shook his head. "Not yet you don't, Amigo. No sleep until we know your gonna wake up."

"Val?" The crack in Murdoch's voice revealed the depth of his fear.

"Just keep him awake, I'll be back as soon as I can." The door clicked closed.

Johnny slumped against Murdoch's hip, his face was flush, his breathing heavy. He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve. Murdoch took a small step away to reach for the towel that hung from a hook on the dry sink, Johnny leaned with him.

Scott lunged to keep his brother from toppling and was once more reminded of his limitations when his stiff leg and stinging feet sent him crashing to the floor. "I feel so damn useless," he said struggling to right himself.

"Nonsense, you've been through an ordeal," Murdoch said. "You need to rest. I can manage." One hand steadied Johnny as he stretched to dip the cloth into the water pitcher with the other. Water dribbled across the floor in a straight line, then after a quick squeeze over the basin he brought it, dripping, to Johnny's brow. He twitched when the drops slid down his face and landed on his bare chest. With a moan he licked the moisture from his lips and drew the cloth through Murdoch's fingers.

Sitting on the floor, Scott watched his father with his brother and pushed back the fear of what was to come. He drew a deep breath and began once more, pulling at the bedding, in the hopes of gaining leverage. Strong hands came to his aid, lifting him onto the bed and arranging the pillow and a balled-up quilt under his legs. He stared into his father's eyes and knew the concern that lived within. "I'll be alright, Murdoch, some fresh bandages and a little padding, I'll be good as new."

Murdoch sat on the bed, at his feet. "I seriously doubt that, son, but it is a nice thought."

"I think we could use a few of those, right about now."

"More than a few, I'd say." Johnny's head began to drop slowly towards his chest. Murdoch clapped his hands together. "John."

His head jerked up, his eyes remained closed.

Murdoch rose, crossed the room and pulled the cloth from Johnny's hand. He dipped it again, this time squeezing the dripping water over Johnny's head. It had the desired effect, his eyes opened. "What the hell? I'm awake," he said tugging at the towel and pushing Murdoch away.

"Keep it that way," Murdoch said as he settled back onto the bed to watch. He spoke softly. "I'm not sure I can do this, Scott. What I want to do is put him in a bed and let him sleep. It's what makes sense to me."

"I know, but that's not what he needs."

"At least after today this part will be behind him and we can focus on…"

"You're wrong Murdoch, nothing will be behind him."

Their eyes met briefly. "You mean…?" He dropped his head. "I have always thought myself a strong man. After today I'm not so sure. Watching that cabin burn, I saw my world die, everything I dreamed of and imagined – gone. I mean, nothing would ever be the same. What would I…? What would we have done if you…?"

Scott sat up and placed a hand on his father's shoulder, their eyes met. "I didn't."

Murdoch simply nodded then looked back at his brother. "And now I'm challenged by the simple task of keeping your brother awake. How? Can you tell me? Because I'm not sure I can even do that."

"That bath you just gave me worked, Old Man." Johnny peered out from behind the cloth.

A smile cracked Murdoch's severe countenance. "That's good to hear."

"Plus, Tom's making coffee, strong coffee, maybe that will help too." Scott offered.

"Coffee?" Johnny shook his head. "I'm not so sure…"

Scott watched Johnny swallow back his words. Coffee, it's what started this mess. He leaned back against the headboard and remembered that morning and his brother's unexpected reaction. The agitation, the injury, and Stu, he'd acted concerned then relieved when sent on his way with Charlie. Yes, things travelled downhill from that very first sip. A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts.

"Mr. Lancer, it's me, Tom. Got that coffee and some sandwiches for ya, figured it'd been a while since you fellas ate something. I'll leave it right outside, unless there's something else you'll be needin'."

"Just a minute, Tom," Murdoch said. "Do you mind if I let him in, Johnny?"

It took a minute for Johnny to answer. He leaned back in the chair and pulled his shirt closed around him with a shiver. "He's good."

Opening the door, Murdoch invited the saloon keeper in then closed it behind him. The two men together made the room feel small. Both were about the same height, though Tom appeared more intimidating until you heard his gentle voice.

"We will need a few things," Murdoch said. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Anything, anything at all," Tom said. He looked like he wanted to say more but instead walked past Murdoch and set the tray down on a chest. "There's roast beef sandwiches. Wish I had more to offer, but it being so early and with all that's gone on, I haven't got much started."

"This will be fine, Tom, just fine." Murdoch fingered the dark blue napkin draped over the food and smiled a thin, polite smile. "Thank you."

Tom nodded then looked from Scott to Johnny. His face changed to one of worry. "Your boys aren't looking too good Mr. Lancer. Soon as the doc gets here I'll send him on up. Should be any time now. Sent Simon near on 2 hours ago, I think."

"We'll be fending for ourselves, I'm afraid. Sam was called away, something about an explosion at the Calico."

"That's funny. Usually hear about such things, guess since we got our own excitement it wasn't important." Tom nodded to Johnny. Scott followed his gaze, his brother was hunched over, arms wrapped around himself and he was shivering. "Looks like ya might be needin' extra blankets. Would you like that, Johnny?"

"Sh-Sure, Tom," Johnny said without lifting his head.

Murdoch pulled a blanket off one of the beds and wrapped it around Johnny's shoulders. He bent and whispered something in Johnny's ear. A nod was his only answer.

"Once the afternoon sun reaches that window, this'll be the warmest room in the place. It's where my girls stay when they're not otherwise occupied. Thought it made more sense for you than a regular room." He put his hand on the knob and looked back at the three of them. "If ya don't mind me sayin, you look like you could use a change of clothes, too. I'd be pleased to send someone out to the ranch."

"That would be most generous, Tom. Maria, she could pull some things together. Not sure how long we'll be here, a day, maybe two."

"Least I can do, I just feel so damn bad about this, as I was tellin' Scott if only I'd…"

"This is my doing." Johnny spoke, still curled inside the blanket. "None of you could have stopped it… Grayson got what he wanted and I was more than…"

"Johnny," Murdoch interrupted. "Not now."

"What? It's true."

"Tom," Scott intervened. "We'll need water, more towels and bandages and maybe some scissors. I'll need a bowl to soak off these bandages and if you would empty that…" Scott pointed to the basin on the floor. "Johnny may need it again."

"Consider it done and if you gentlemen think of anything else…"

"You'll be the first to know, Tom," Murdoch said as he ushered the barkeep from the room. He leaned back against the closed door and shut his eyes. "Before you start saying anything, Johnny, we need to hear what Val has to say. You of all people should know that."

"It don't matter. You've got to know I'll never set foot on Lancer again."

TBC


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The floorboard creaked. She knew it would. By now, she knew the different sounds it would make, whether she stepped on one end or the other. At first she tried to avoid it, step wider or move a bit to the left or the right, but now she needed to hear it. It meant she was doing something, even if it was only making a noise.

Teresa leaned against the door to Val's office, lifting a corner of the faded green curtain and staring outside. "Willie," she said letting the fabric drop from her fingers. "Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"

She stopped. "I'm sorry, Teresa, but ever since that toad of a man left my patience has vanished."

"Vanished? I didn't think any had survived the trip. You really should sit down, you must be worn out. I know I am."

"I can't. I just can't. Murdoch telling me Scott is alright and me seeing for myself are two vastly different things. If I only wanted word of his safety I would have stayed in Spanish Wells. And what about Johnny? The things people are saying…"

"Johnny would never gun down an unarmed man, no matter how much he deserved it. He couldn't."

"That's not what Mr. Love said."

"He doesn't know Johnny, not like we do."

"I'm not sure that matters. The way he sat at Val's desk, scribbling away and talking to himself, made me very nervous."

Teresa lifted the curtain once more. "Is that him, coming back?"

Willie stepped closer to the window; the creaking board gave her a small feeling of satisfaction. "It's him. I can't stand listening to him, he already has Johnny convicted and hung."

"Well, if you ask me, that gambler deserved what he got. The only pity is, it didn't happen years ago. This family would have been much better off." Teresa stepped away from the door. "He doesn't have anyone else with him. Maybe that's a good sign."

The door flew open and Willie watched Love head straight for Val's desk, pull open a drawer and remove the sheets of paper he'd stuffed in there earlier. He slammed the drawer shut and turned for the door.

"Mr. Love, please what's going on over there? Is there anything I can do?" Willie placed a hand on his arm to still him and Teresa moved in beside her. "I have the doctor's supplies, even though he is not here, I could be of some assistance, I'm sure of it."

"Ladies." His small eyes flitted from her face to Teresa's. It was then Willie noticed he had blood decorating the tip of his beard. It caused her to shiver. "There isa dead man in that saloon and a vicious cold blooded killer upstairs. No woman of virtue belongs there, I will brook no discussion."

"But, Mr. Love…"

Love raised the folded sheets and pressed them to Willie's lips. "I'll hear none of that. Now, I have what I came for." He slapped the papers into the palm of his hand. "And once I have demonstrated the facts to your sheriff, he will have no choice but to place Mr. John Lancer under arrest for murder." He straightened, and the blood on the tip of his beard moved up and down as he spoke. "He will be locked in that cell before nightfall; I don't care how sick he is. No one skirts the law, no one. Now if you'll excuse me." He offered a small bow, stepped around them, and was gone.

"Oow, I don't like that man," Teresa said. "What did he mean, no matter how sick he is? Johnny wasn't sick. What's going on? And where did Remy run off to? If anyone belongs in a cell it's him, I don't trust him. Ever since he's arrived things have gone wrong, terribly wrong." The tears started rolling down her cheeks. "I'm scared."

Willie sighed. She wanted nothing more than to join Teresa in her tears. Sometimes few things felt better than a good cry, but now was not the time and this, most certainly, was not the place. She pulled Teresa in for a hug. "I'm scared too," she whispered. She released her hold and walked to the large window. There were fewer people in front of the saloon. Instead, they were clustered together in front of doorways, their faces grim. "I'm going over there."

"I'll come too," Teresa said, wiping at her tears with the heel of her palm.

"No." She still watched the street. "Love was right about one thing. Murdoch would not be pleased to see you in a saloon." She bent to pick up her shawl and purse from the bench beneath the window and turned to face Teresa. "Why don't you go get a room at the hotel, maybe two." She pulled some money from her bag. "I have a feeling we may be staying a while," she said doing her best to offer a reassuring smile, but she knew it fell short.

"If that's what you think is best. But I really think I belong with my family."

"I know. I'll tell Murdoch where you are and how you feel. If he agrees, perhaps he'll be willing to escort you."

"Or maybe bring Scott and Johnny to the hotel?" Her hand still wiped at the tears.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't pin much hope on that thought. I'm afraid, the only place Johnny might end up is right here, that is if Love has his way." She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. "And if I know Scott at all, he won't want to be stuck in a hotel room while his brother sits in a jail cell."

"Then he'll know exactly how I feel," Teresa said with a pout.

"Try not to worry." Willie brushed away a few of Teresa's fresh tears. "These won't help, we need to look strong."

"You're right," Teresa sniffed. "But… Is Johnny going to hang?"

"There's a lot we don't know and, until we do, we need to stay positive. The men will expect that."

Together they stepped from the office. Willie gave Teresa a little push in the direction of the hotel. "Go." Teresa nodded and Willie watched her walk away.

Her stomach was doing another dance only this time it had nothing to do with her condition…. Oh, just admit it to yourself, Willie, you're pregnant. You're going to have a baby. It was something she'd wanted for as long as she could remember, but she never imagined it would be anything like this. She looked up at the windows above the saloon. What kind of cruel trick was this? Had she ached for a child so deeply that she'd offered some kind of trade? Would this new life bring the end of another? She shook away those dark thoughts and smoothed the front of her dress into place. Running a hand over her still flat belly, she looked at the people milling about, how long before they'd notice?

With purpose she stepped from the shade and into the bright morning light. It was going to be hot. It had been a while since she's experienced a day that warmed her bones. She removed her shawl while nodding a greeting to Burgess. He responded in kind then returned to his conversation with Alma, the seamstress, and one of the girls from the Painted Lady. The weight of their eyes made her uncomfortable as she turned her back and walked to the buckboard. Using her shawl, she gathered up some of the supplies from Sam's office. She didn't want them to know where she was headed so she walked past the saloon and snuck down the alley beside Alma's dress shop then around the back to the kitchen entrance.

The back door of the saloon was open, and she stopped to peer inside. She'd never been in a saloon before, but since she was entering through the kitchen, she decided it was no different than walking into any other eating establishment. The sound of footsteps startled her, and before she could step into the shadows she was face to chest with the proprietor. He wasn't watching where he was going and they very nearly collided. The liquid in the basin he carried sloshed but thankfully didn't spill, it carried the unmistakable scent of vomit mingled with the distinct odor of laudanum. He stepped past her and tossed its contents in the general direction of the outhouse, which stood several yards away.

He turned back to face her. "Sorry about that Ma'am, but you have no business being here."

She straightened in an attempt to look as tall as she could, but standing beside this man, that was an impossible task. "I'm here to see the Lancers. I have supplies from Sam, and they are expecting me." She hoped her voice sounded more convincing than her insides felt. The smells were starting her stomach to roil again, and she wanted desperately to escape them.

His rigid stance relaxed and a look of recognition spread across his face. "I know you. You're a friend. Mrs. Dawson, if my memory serves me."

"It does, Sir." She clutched her bundle tightly to her stomach. "Now if you don't mind, based on the contents you just disposed of, I believe I am needed."

He dropped his head and let out a heavy sigh. "Not sure you can help Johnny, but Scott could use some bandaging. Come in. Come in."

None of the warmed air had found its way inside. Even the kitchen was cold, which surprised her.

"Things have been busy this morning." Tom offered as he caught her looking about the room. "Haven't had chance to get anything started. Made some coffee though. Would you like some?"

Willie shook her head. She was afraid to open her mouth for fear she'd require the basin Tom still held in his hand.

"Well, no matter, there is some up in their room. I need to gather a few things, blankets and such then I'll be along."

Regaining control, Willie drew a breath and looked out the door of the kitchen down the long dark corridor. "Would you direct me, please?"

"Not used to folks not knowing their way around here. Sorry 'bout that." He put the basin in the sink and pumped some water over it then wiped his hands on his shirt tail. "Don't think it wise to go through the saloon, so go straight down this hallway." He pointed. "At the end you'll see the stairs. It's the door right at the top."

"Thank you, Mr.…"

"It's Tom, Ma'am, just Tom."

"Thank you, Tom."

Halfway down the hall she stopped. What was she thinking, Wilhelmina Francis Dawson in a saloon? She could just see the shocked look on the faces of the ladies in Spanish Wells, Mrs. Wilkes, especially. The thought almost made her chuckle. She leaned forward and peeked into the saloon. From this angle, there wasn't much to see, just the corner of the bar. A familiar voice startled her, and she pressed against the wall, hoping she hadn't been seen.

"You sure are anxious to see justice served ain't ya, Mr. Love? All I know is that man was no angel, he's cheated men for years and more than likely had a long line a folks anxious to give him what he got."

"Our job, Sheriff Crawford, is not to determine the merit of a man. That is better left to a higher power. Ours is to see the letter of the law carried out, whether we agree with it or not. And the way I see it, once the circuit judge comes through here next week, your friend is a dead man. Now, if you think you will be unable to perform your duties I do have the authority to take your badge."

Willie felt her chest tighten and found it difficult to draw a breath, this couldn't be happening. How could things spin out of control like this? She squeezed her eyes closed, fearful she was going to faint.

"Sweetie? You all right?"

She blinked and figured she must have looked a sight if the expression on the woman's face was any indication. All she could do was nod.

"Well, ya sure don't look all right. I'm Florence, you new?"

Willie clutched her bundle to her chest and shook her head hoping she would find her tongue.

"Ya lost then. Cuz ya don't look like you belong in a place like this. Ya know you're in a saloon, right?"

She was talking slower now, and her gaze softened, like she thought she was talking to a simpleton. "Look Sweetie, maybe if you went outside the fresh air would do ya some good."

"No." Willie exhaled, relieved to have regained the power of speech. "Tom sent me down here. I'm looking for the Lancers. He said at the top of the stairs."

"You sure about that, Sweetie? I mean… Johnny is…"

"I'm sure, thank you."

"If you say so." Florence shrugged and continued on her way toward the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor.

Still pressed against the wall, Willie waited, waited for the footfall to fade away and her wits to return. This was becoming more than she bargained for, but she could handle it. Otherwise, why had she come? The corridor was quiet now but there was movement coming from a room on her right. The door was ajar and she figured it must have been where Florence came from. She hurried past not wishing to see anyone else. She was halfway up the stairs when she heard Remy's voice.

"I've done everything you've asked, and now we need to go. I won't stay here to watch Johnny hang. I don't have the stomach for it." The door slammed shut and Willie raced the rest of the way up the stairs almost tripping over her skirt.

Shaking, she stood, for a moment, in front of the door at the top of the stairs. She released one sweaty hand from her bundle and wiped it on her skirt. Scott's voice, coming from behind the closed door, caused her heart to beat even faster. "You're talking crazy, Johnny. Of course you'll be back at Lancer. We just need to wait for Val. He'll figure a way out of this. You'll see."

She knocked.

"Not now, Tom. Leave everything by the door." Murdoch's voice was strained.

"Mr. Lancer." Willie heard the quiver in her voice and it made her angry. She cleared her throat, threw her head back and sucked in a breath. "Murdoch, it's Willie."

Silence was her reply and she toyed with the idea of turning back and joining Teresa at the hotel, but she stood firm. She heard footsteps and the door opened. Murdoch pulled her inside and closed the door. "I don't mean to intrude…"

"Nonsense," Murdoch said. He tried to smile as he rubbed her arm but the smile quickly faded.

"Willie, it's good to see you." Scott said, extending his hand. 'I'm sorry you had to come to such a place, this room..."

Her nerves got the better of her. "Heavens, you look like you've been through the mill, Scott, but I'm relieved you're safe." She wanted to take his hand and be pulled down next to him on the bed. She wanted to run a finger over the bruise on his cheek, she wanted to draw in his scent, kiss his lips and feel his arms around her but that was not to be. "Murdoch, you look exhausted, perhaps it would be wise to sit." She dropped her bundle onto Scott's bed and busied herself by pouring coffee. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon greeted her and it quieted her jumping belly. She passed the cup to Murdoch and watched as Johnny's eyes followed its path. "Would you like some Johnny?"

He sniffed then nodded. Removing the cup from Murdoch's hands she looked up. "I hope you don't mind," she said, stepping close to Johnny. She pressed the cup into his hands and her lips to his ear. "Is this how he did it?" She felt his nod. "I'll help you, just not yet." His shoulders relaxed and she knew he understood. She straightened. "He needs to get his foot off the floor. Look how swollen it is."

"Val wanted him to stay awake, because of the…" Murdoch's eyes darted away. "He didn't want…"

"I know why he said that, Murdoch, and I don't think there's much danger of that anymore. Right now he's in a lot of pain, and there's little chance he'll do more than nod."

Balancing the cup, Johnny pulled the blanket tighter around. "I'm c-cold, too." He shivered, spilling some of the coffee.

"Maybe you should lie down for a while, until you're warm." Murdoch pulled the cup from Johnny's hand and set it on the dresser then returned to help him to the bed. "I'll feel better once you've moved past this laudanum situation."

"That may not be the most important thing to consider now." Willie crossed the room and untied her shawl, allowing the bandages, bottles and jars to tumble out upon the bed.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"I couldn't help overhearing Val and Mr. Love. The circuit judge is due next week, and Love has every intention of seeing Johnny hang for this crime."

"Damn, I hate it when I'm right." Johnny said as he dropped to the bed with a groan.

"John." Murdoch warned as he gathered a few extra pillows and stuffed them beneath Johnny's swollen foot. "We'll wait to hear from Val. You didn't do this, and the truth will come out."

"Think what you want, but the way I see it I've been living on borrowed time since I came here and the devil finally decided to cash in his chips."

Willie peeled away the bits of cloth on Scott's feet, wishing she had more water to soften them. She caught the look on Scott's face. The pain he felt, at Johnny's words, was clearly displayed.

"You're talking as if you actually did this." Murdoch handed him back the cup. "As if you killed an unarmed man."

"And how else would it have gone down?" Johnny tried to take a sip but his hands were shaking. Willie wanted to help but turned her attention to Scott's battered feet. "The girl? Do you think the girl did it?"

Scott hissed as she dabbed the wounds with carbolic acid. "I think if you'd wanted him dead, Johnny, he wouldn't have lived long enough to name names."

"Yeah, well my hands were a little unsteady, Scott."

"You're confessing?"

"Nope," he said sliding the cup onto the windowsill. "Won't make it easy for them to put a noose around my neck, but you're forgetting, I was there. Val wasn't and neither were you."

"The girl. She was there. Don't tell me you're covering for her. She isn't worth it, Johnny."

"And how would you know that?"

"She was his daughter…"

"And I was his son."

"No, never." Murdoch's tone was hard. "You were never his son."

"Maybe not blood, but he was my father for almost six years, about as long as he's been their pa. Maybe that makes me not worth it either, huh?"

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that." Willie felt the pain in Scott's words and wished she could say something to help, but there was nothing.

"Look, my head aches, my leg hurts and I'm cold and I'm tired."

"You'll see things more clearly, son, after you've had some rest."

"Don't see how. Things are pretty clear to me right now. It's you two that are having trouble."

TBC


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Willie yawned, and her eyes watered as she fought the call of sleep. Each time she thought the battle won, she'd find herself jerking her head up. There was no excuse for this; she'd napped at the hotel, during the afternoon. Murdoch insisted. Yet, here she was struggling to stay awake. She shifted in the rocker's hard seat, then pushed back to start its motion. The rhythmic creak sparked her wakefulness, and she smiled at the memory of Tom, his chest puffed with pride, when he carried the sturdy rocker into the room. 'Might as well be comfortable, best chair in the place,' he'd said as he set the rocker down with care. He offered a boyish grin, when he told her a few of the ladies gave him the chair one year for Christmas then wiped at the arm with his shirttail as he invited her to try it out. He was right. It was a fine chair.

A woman's laughter startled her awake and she jumped from the chair when someone thumped against their closed door.

"Now Charlie, if'n ya don't slow down, you'll be done 'fore we git started."

"Ain't worried, Red, ya know'd damn well how to get me worked up again," he said as the footsteps and her giggles trailed off down the hallway and a door slammed closed.

Standing amid the relative quiet, Willie looked at each of the two sleeping men, neither appeared to have noticed the near intrusion and her heart began to slow its raging pace.

It was just the three of them. During the day, in addition to Murdoch, Val and Teresa had joined them. She was shocked when Murdoch allowed Teresa's visit, but the opportunity presented itself after he'd walked Willie back to the hotel for her nap, Teresa pressed and Murdoch relented. When it came time to escort her back, Murdoch refused to leave Willie alone, fearful it would be bad for her reputation. The irony of his fear caused Willie to turn away, hiding her sardonic smile. Initially, it had been her concern as well, but she became aware of her foolishness as she entered the saloon for the second time. Realizing, if she were to remain in Spanish Wells, there would be precious little reputation to protect.

Val's arrival put an end to their debate and with the sheriff's parting words Murdoch relinquished his fight for Willie's reputation. The sheriff's clear presentation of the facts shattered all reasonable expectations of a positive outcome and left Murdoch with few concerns beyond his son's predicament. He left to usher Teresa back to the hotel in the hopes of quieting her tears and catching a few hours of much needed sleep. He must have succeeded because the sun was still baking the room when he left and now that warmth was being carried off by the night's welcome coolness. Welcomed by all, except Johnny, she imagined. He'd shivered nearly all day, despite the wretched heat, but for the moment, he was still, as was Scott.

She stepped closer to Scott, watching him. Even breaths told her he was sleeping peacefully, a marked change from his earlier restlessness. One hand dangled limp over the edge of the small bed, and she laced her fingers through his as she sat beside him. A working man's hands, she relished their touch, rough against her skin. The bed creaked when he shifted slightly but offered no sign of waking. Laying her hand on his forehead, she breathed a sigh of relief. The slight fever that had developed earlier was now retreating. She allowed her fingers to brush his bruised cheek as they traveled down to trace his lips. "I'm sorry Scott," she whispered. Leaning forward she placed a feather light kiss on his mouth, lingering to feel his soft puffs of breath. "I'm so very, very sorry." Guiding his hand to her belly, she held it in place with both of hers.

She woke to the rhythmic beat of Scott's heart, her head resting comfortably on his chest, his arm wrapped about her shoulders. The weight made her feel safe, loved. She'd never loved another man this much. There was David, of course, several years her senior. He was educated, her teacher in more than books, and she loved him, but not like this, never like this. He didn't stir in her the feelings Scott did. She'd realized, as they'd traveled west, that she fell in love with what David offered, the escape from that horrid, dirty town and its mine, her father, a hard man with a harder fist and the smell, how she hated the smell of that place. Love for the man did develop over the years. It grew deep and rich, born from respect and tenderness, but never passion, never did she crave his touch or hunger to lie beside him.

Beside him, the words brought to mind where she was and the imprudence of her thoughts. Sliding out from beneath Scott's arm, she stood. Missing his embrace, a shiver caused her to pull her shawl from the bed post. It warmed her skin but the cold inside remained. She ran a hand over her belly and walked toward the window. Only the cool night air greeted her. The laughter and plunk of the out-of-tune piano were no longer echoing off the buildings. But, sunrise was still hours off. A soft glow emanated from a few of the hotel's windows and a brighter light came from Val's office.

"When you planning on telling him?" Johnny's voice startled her.

She was silent for a moment, considering his question. No doubt, she misunderstood. "You're awake," she said, not turning from the window.

"Yup. Have been near all day. Too fuck…, sorry. I can't get warm."

"I know."

"And just how would you know that? Don't tell me you…"

"Me?" She turned to face him, but not before wiping the flow of tears from her face. "No, not me, David, my husband, he was ill. It took a while, but we figured out a way to make it work, until the end when all we could hope for was making him comfortable."

"I'm sorry about that, never did…"

"Why should you? You didn't know either of us."

"Yeah, well, I know ya now and…" He shivered. "Think you could shut that window?"

She looked at him; he was struggling to stay in control. A lesser man would be crying, begging but not this man. The window slid closed easier than she expected, though she knew the action would do nothing to warm him. "There are no more blankets," she said watching the tremors take control. "How long has it been? Do you have any idea?"

"T-Too long, sun was c-coming up." He sniffed. "At least I th-think it was, m-maybe." He squeezed his eyes closed and drew a long slow breath through his mouth and held it until the shaking stopped.

"Better?"

"No." His eyes were still closed. She pushed the hair back from his face and he flinched. "Don't. It hurts."

"What hurts?"

"Everything. My hair, my skin, the weight of these damn blankets, everything hurts."

"What do you say I take a look at that leg? Then maybe we can talk about what you need."

"You know damn well what I need."

He was losing patience, she could tell by the desperate edge to his voice, but he wouldn't beg, No, this man would never beg. "You said you'd help me? Or did I get that wrong?"

"You weren't wrong. I'll do what I can," Willie said as she lifted the covers. "At least something is working in our favor; the swelling has gone down considerably."

"Still hurts like hell." He sniffed again.

"I know." She tried to smile. "Everything hurts."

For a second there was a smile in his eyes then it was gone. "Just so you understand, if it was just me, I'd go off somewhere and curl up in a ball until I stopped wanting to be dead, but Val said, tomorrow he'd have to lock me up and…" His eyes darted to Scott then back to Willie. "I can't be sick like that, not locked in a cage for the world to see." He shook his head. "It ain't just me it would hurt."

"I understand, I do, but be warned, it won't be as much as you want, just enough to keep the sickness away. Do you understand that?" Willie pulled the small bottle from the pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt and Johnny's hand darted out to snatch it. She stepped back. "You'll do this my way," she said reaching for a cup. She opened the bottle and poured a small amount. Johnny watched every motion.

"I need enough to get me across the street and into Val's office," he said licking his upper lip. "I don't want anyone coming to get me. Next time you can give me less."

"You say that now." She poured a little more into the cup before passing it to him. "That's it."

He met her look. Drinking this wasn't what he wanted, but it was what he needed. Need versus want, she could see the private war waging through his watery blue eyes. Need won.

Cradling the empty cup in his hand Johnny leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. In a matter of minutes, his shoulders relaxed, the tense ripple in his cheek faded, and the hint of a smile appeared. The sensation had been described to her many times; the warmth of a mother's love, soaking into bone, muscle, flesh, taking away all the pain until nothing mattered.

"You're an angel." His words came in a breath; slow, contented.

"I'm not so sure your father or your brother would agree."

"They'd be wrong." His stare was steadfast. "Especially if you tell them your secret."

"And what secret would that be?" She blurted out a nervous laugh and both looked toward Scott as he mumbled something then rolled over and stilled. Bringing her hand to her chest, she fingered a small button.

"You never answered my question," he said.

"And what question would that be?"

"When are you going to tell him?"

"Some things are best kept secret. When all this blows over, he'll be happy I'm gone. You'll see."

"And just who do you think will be left standing when all this blows over?" he mimicked. "Not me. I'll be swinging from the end of a rope."

Willie's knees buckled and she dropped to the edge of the bed.

"Not tryin' to scare you, but, it's the truth. There's no way to fix this." She opened her mouth to speak and he raised his hand to stop her. "I know you think I'm giving up, but some things are worth dying for and some secrets are worth keeping," He reached out and placed his hand over hers. She hadn't noticed, but she had it resting over her stomach. "But, not this one, he'll need you once I'm gone. This will help make everything alright."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "No, Johnny, nothing will be alright. The pain would never go away. And in the end it will be me he hates, because…"

"Listen to me. You can't keep this a secret. Lies kept both Scott and me from our father. You can't repeat that."

"I'm sorry, but I have no intention of staying. It may sound selfish, but I need a man who loves me, not my ability to give him a family. I thought I couldn't, I turned him down and he left, he just left." She stood and turned away. The tears rolled down her cheeks in big drops, fresh ones appearing the moment she wiped the old ones away. "I thought he'd put up a fight, I thought I meant more to him than that. I thought I was being noble by giving him a choice."

"Noble? What the hell is that?"

The question took her by surprise. With a tilt of her head she turned back and looked at him. "It's what you're being."

"Nope." He shook his head. "Not me."

"You may not think so, but yes, Johnny, you are. None of us believe you did this and all we can think of is you're protecting the girl. And that is noble. It's wrong, but it's noble."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"It does sound like something you'd do, but why? Why her?" Her question was met with silence. "Johnny, please tell me. You know my secret. It's only fair that I know yours."

"You're good." Johnny laughed and pointed his finger at her. "No wonder Scott loves you."

Willie looked away, if only she could believe that. If only she'd kept her fears to herself. Then there never would have been any doubt, she would have gone on thinking he loved her beyond measure. Now it looked like she was testing him, when, in reality, all she wanted to do was to spare him pain. Her eyes returned to Johnny. Pain, this was only just beginning.

"I know my brother, and he would never give you a snap answer on something important. Me? I shoot from the hip, kind a like you, I think. But, Scott needs to think things through. He'll figure it out and when he does he'll tell you the truth. Scott is honest, as honest as the day is long, and these last few days have been endless."

TBC


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Not enough. She didn't give him near enough. Each step sent a white hot streak of pain straight from his leg to his brain and beads of sweat were getting in his eyes turning the room at the bottom of the stairs wavy like desert heat. It didn't help that he was so God damn hot. Ripping off his clothes was starting to seem like a real good idea, though something told him that probably wouldn't be the best plan. He hadn't been making the smartest decisions the last few days.

"Here, lean on me, it will help." Willie tried to take hold of his arm, but he batted her away.

"Leave me alone."

"Oh."

He didn't bother to look at her. His eyes were focused on the bottom stair and the chair sitting two steps to the left. At least he hoped it'd be only two steps. But, even with his focus on the pain and the stairs, and the chair he knew he'd hurt her. It came through loud and clear in that one little word. She moved behind him and didn't speak again. It's not that he didn't care, there was just nothing he could do about it. It took all he had to take each step. With a groan, he plopped down and looked at her. "Never been in a saloon before?" He damn well knew he should a said sorry, but it was her fault. She didn't give him near enough.

"This is my first, thank you." Her tone was icy, her eyes stared into the empty room. She was the last person he should be pissing off right now. He needed her, needed what she was willing to do. Turning, she climbed a few of the steps then stopped. The light from the lamp she carried cast long shadows over the room below and Johnny watched bits and pieces of what had played out, less than a day ago, dance in the flickering glow. He closed his eyes, trying to push the scene from his head.

"I'm not sure where I belong," she said, her voice soft, the cold edge gone.

It took a minute for her words to work past the pictures in his head and the thundering beat of pain in his ears. He considered them as he pulled over another chair and eased his leg onto the seat. The stampede was moving out. The ground stopped shaking each time he took a breath and the fire burning behind his eyes was cooling. Wish he could say that about the rest of him. He sucked in a breath figuring he owed her an answer. "You belong at Lancer."

Willie placed the lamp on a higher step, turned to face him, and sank down. She wrapped her hands around the balusters and peered through. "There was a time I thought so." She didn't look at him when she spoke. "I'm not sure anymore." Johnny leaned back in his chair and watched. "When Murdoch finds out I'm giving you laudanum and Scott learns about the baby, what will they think of me? What do you think they'll say?"

"Me? I stopped trying to figure out what Murdoch would say a long time ago. Found I was usually wrong. And, as for Scott… he might surprise you. Only one way ta know for sure. Can the answers be any worse than what you got running around in that head a yours?"

"No, I suppose not." She folded in half and rested her arms and head on her knees. "I'm tired, perhaps I am making rash decisions."

"Then get on over to that hotel and grab yourself some sleep. I can make it the rest of the way, just need to get outta this chair." Damn that was a whole lot easier to say than it was gonna be to do. If only his legs didn't feel the size of tree trunks. Tree trunks. He snickered. That's what started this. That and the coffee and Stu and damn, why had he let his guard down? Why had he let go of the past? Cause it damn sure never let go of him.

Her sigh brought him back. "Are you glad he's dead?"

Her head still rested on arms and knees but she'd turned it and was looking into the saloon. Johnny followed her gaze. The lamplight hit the floor in the worst possible spot. Someone had tried to clean away the blood but the scrubbing only spread it around and pushed it into the cracks. "Yup."

"Scott told me, if it weren't for Grayson, your mother would have never left. Did you hate him for that?"

"Can't say. Had so many other reasons to hate him, guess that one never came up."

"Yet you stayed with him. Why?"

"The hate was slow coming. He showed up when I was waiting for Inez. Said she'd changed her mind, didn't want nothing to do with a blue-eyed mestiso." He heard the hitch in his voice, the lie still pinched at his heart. Bastard started straight away with the lies, too bad he was just a dumb kid. "Grayson made it clear no one wanted me 'cept him. And, I gotta tell ya, it didn't matter who he was, or what he was, it just felt good to be wanted. The reasons made no difference."

"He did the same thing for Remy and his sister, maybe?" She asked. "Taking them in like he did must have seemed like a nice thing to do."

"He could be real nice." The laugh that tumbled out left a sour taste in his mouth. "Hell, most people liked him straight off, just ask Val."

"Did you like him?"

"Back then? Yeah, I did. He taught me damn near everything I know. Shit, I was a wise mouthed kid, would a wound up dead, for sure, if not for him. So yeah, I liked him." He let his chin drop to his chest. It was time to make a move. The pain had become a distant beat and his muscles burned warm like he'd just rolled off a pretty woman. Damn he was feeling good.

"Are you okay? Did I give you too much?"

"Oh, I'm good." He kind of nodded, but it was more of a roll of his head and he felt the curl of a smile tug at his lip, maybe she gave him enough after all.

"You don't have to do this. No one expects you to."

He knew that, but he'd be damned if anyone else was going to call the shots. There wasn't much left he could control and as long as Willie was gonna keep him… comfortable. A fear rippled through him. "You'll visit later, right? You won't forget?"

"No Johnny, I won't forget. I wouldn't do that to you." Willie sat up, her eyes wide. "Did he?"

"Sometimes. Only I didn't know why I felt ready to crawl outta my skin."

"What he did was wrong. You know that don't you?"

"Yeah, I know now. But he has a way of twisting you up inside till ya can't tell."

"Had."

"Huh?"

"Had a way, Johnny. Had. The man is dead."

The laugh started deep in his belly and worked its way up until there was no stopping it. It wasn't a laugh that made him feel good, it was a laugh that made him feel sick inside.

"What's so funny?"

He swallowed hard pushing the sound back where it came from. "Last night, Grayson dragged out every reason for me to hate him til I only wanted one thing." His head felt light and far off, like the pain, and he rolled it back and forth. "Cuz, if that bastard was dead, everything could be like it was before." He squeezed his eyes closed and pictured Sunday dinner, everyone at the table, food and laughter. It was the one place he'd wanted to be as he watched Murdoch and Val head out to look for Scott. Dinner at Lancer, he would have never believed that sitting down for a meal with family could mean so much. But Lancer meant more to him than he could have ever dreamed. It was more than land, it was his home and his family, and the one place he ever felt completely safe. "It was all good before."

"And now?"

"Now?" He opened his eyes and pushed up in the chair. "Now, I think his being dead won't make a damn bit a difference."

Willie stood and took a few steps down the stairs. "Is that how you feel? Like he's still pulling all the strings?"

He rolled his head back and squinted at her. The glow from the lamp danced around her head, glinting off the stray pieces of hair that floated around her face. "I don't know how I feel."

"Maybe that's my fault? Maybe, I shouldn't give you the laudanum. It could be making things worse."

Johnny felt his stomach go tight and the spit drain from his mouth. "There's only one thing that could make this worse." He couldn't do it, he wouldn't beg, not out loud, but by the look on her face she damn sure had to know.

She crossed the short distance from the stairs and knelt before him. "I'm sorry. I should have never said that. Please believe me. I won't ever do what he did to you, I promise."

He looked into her eyes, the eyes of the person who was agreeing to be his savior, and he did believe her, trusted that she understood. But would anyone else? "Thank you," he said. "You have no idea how much I need you."

"I think I do. No one needs to witness your pain. There is already enough suffering here."

He reached up and smoothed the unruly wisps. The kiss was short and her lips were soft and warm and he moved to kiss her once more, this time pressing deeper tasting her, feeling the heave of her chest as she melted into him, then the push of her hands as she stood and stepped back. She said nothing, just stood there staring at him, her fingers held to her lips.

Shit, what was he thinking? He wasn't, he couldn't have cuz he sure wouldn't ever think that was a good idea. "I'm sorry," he said but her eyes were starting to tear up and she shook her head. Using the cane he stood on unsteady feet and took a step closer. "I'm sorry."

Willie took a few more steps back then turned and ran up the stairs. He watched as she disappeared around the corner. "Damn," he said as he draped himself over the stair rail. "Damn, damn, damn." He hung there for a while, wondering if she'd come back down. What he wanted to do was go after her, but there was no way he was going to make it up those stairs. And he wasn't sure what he could say or do to make what just happened go away. Nothin', that's what. There was nothin' that could fix this. Guess it didn't matter, since he wasn't gonna be sticking around long anyway. It seemed a real shame though that his last kiss would be to his brother's girl. "Damn."

Johnny opened the door to Val's office. The bright light, from the lamp on the desk, wasn't near as inviting as it had been from across the street. Val was at his desk, head down, resting on crossed arms and scattered papers, snoring. He jumped up from his chair, rubbing his eyes the moment the door snapped closed.

"What the hell are you doin' here? Figured you'd be…" He stopped and looked at Johnny. "Shit." He dropped his ass back into the chair and ran a hand down his face. "Where'd ya get it, Johnny? Ain't no way you made it here without help."

"What? No thank you? And here I come all this way just to save you the trouble," Johnny said, leaning back against the door.

"Won't go so far as ta thank you, but it is good ta see you looking more alive than dead."

Johnny sighed out and looked at the floor. "Don't get used to it."

"Damn it, Johnny." Val hopped up from his chair again and banged his fist on the desk. "Never known you to be a quitter."

"Not quitting."

"Sure sounds like it to me. Now, go back and get some sleep. You look like you could use it. Besides, I ain't decided yet if I'm gonna charge ya."

"Val, you know damn well, if you don't Love will."

"Ya, I know, but don't make it right. And it don't mean I have ta like it."

"No, it don't. But it needs doing just the same, so open up that cell." Johnny pushed off the door. He sucked in a breath as a jolt of pain caused him to sway. "I'm thinking I've done about all I can without falling over." He tried to smile, gave it his damn best shot but it sure took a lot of work.

"You are one stubborn son-of-a-bitch." Val fumbled in the drawer for the keys then moved in close to Johnny. "Wrap your arm around me and I'll give ya a hand.

"Thanks, but I've come this far I'll finish it," he said pushing Val back with the end of the cane.

Val shook his head and grumbled. "Like I said, one stubborn son-of-a-bitch." He unlocked the cell and shoved the door open, giving Johnny a hard stare. "Have it your way," he said with a small bow and a sweep of his hand.

Johnny moved past the lawman and lowered himself onto the cot, pushing back against the wall. "Would ya stop staring and get something for my leg, it hurts a hell of a lot less when it ain't three times its normal size."

Pulling the mattress off the other cot, Val folded it in half and positioned it under Johnny's leg. "Best I can do."

"It's good," Johnny said trying to sound grateful but he knew it fell short. "Thanks," he added then closed his eyes. Breathing through clenched teeth he hoped to wait out the pain.

"This ain't the best place for you, and you know it."

"Oh, I don't know, Val, it'll keep me off my leg. Hell, by the time you hang me, it'll be good as new."

"Quit joking, Johnny."

"Who's joking?"

"What's gonna happen when that shit wears off? You're gonna be sicker than Billy Hazlet after he drank that rotgut. You should a stayed at the saloon."

Fear grabbed at his gut, forcing him to look away from his friend. Not many things scared the shit outta him but that was sure one. Dios, had he sent that plan up in flames with a kiss? Or would Willie keep her promise despite the man he'd become? It sure as hell didn't take long for that damn laudanum to start making decisions for him, bad decisions. "Thought I had it worked out, but then I did about the second dumbest thing I've ever done and now I ain't so sure."

"Second dumbest?" Val stuck his head in his line of sight and glared. "Care to tell me about those?"

"Think I'll pass."

Val turned away without saying a word. He walked across the room, took off his badge and set it on his desk then dragged a chair back with him, into the cell. Sitting down next to the cot, he leaned forward. "Amigo tu Amigo, I need the truth, Johnny."

"The truth? How did Grayson put it? Truth is a foolish waste of time. Living with lies is a whole lot more comfortable."

"Damn it, Johnny." Val sat back. "From what you say, the man didn't know the first thing about telling the truth."

"But that's where you're wrong. He almost always told the truth, finding the lie was the hard part."

"And you're doing the same thing."

"Not lying, Val. The way I call it there are three truths. There's the truth that says I did it. None of you will believe me and I'll hang. Or the one where I say the girl did it. Now that's the one that will make all you comfortable. Only thing is, the judge won't believe it since it was my gun and more than a few heard me say I'd kill him, including you, and I'll hang. Or I can say nothing, the evidence will prove I did it and I'll hang. Which truth do you want?"

"I'd be lying if I said this looked good. But you've been in tight spots before and you've always made it out. Don't see why your luck should change now." Val stood and walked to the door of the cell. "Ya could run."

"Run?" Johnny laughed though his nose. "With a broke leg and a craving for laudanum? How far do you think I'd get? The only difference is I'd be shot first then hung."

"I wouldn't find ya, Johnny." Val pointed to his desk. "That badge would never go on again. You believe that, don't ya?"

"Ya, Val, I believe it. Thanks, but even if I could run, I wouldn't. That would be worse than dying, knowing I could never come home."

Silence stretched between them until it was strung so tight it snapped.

"She's plumb loco ya know. One minute she was carrying on about her dead Pa and the next she damn near had her hands down my pants. She aint't worth it Johnny."

"Oh, I don't know, Val. Seems the same's been said about me more than once."

TBC


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Willie stood outside the door to Scott's room. She was certain she'd closed it, certain, but there it was, standing half open. Fear squeezed her chest. Where could he be? What might he have seen? Bearing her weight against the wall with an outstretched hand, she felt weak. Gasp after gasp, she struggled for the slightest intake of air. Each minute catch of breath gathered in her chest until there was enough to burst forth with one loud, uncontrollable sob. Tears streaked down her cheeks, her shoulders heaved, and the solitary cry was replaced by silent screams. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor.

Arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. The hold tightened until she felt herself let go and melt into its embrace. Strong hands moved in circles across her back and the gentle sway of their bodies released the pressure that threatened split her in two. Air returned to her lungs and with it came sobs, ear shattering sobs that filled the darkened corridor. Doors opened then clicked closed.

The heaving sobs gave way to shudders and exhausted whimpers until there was nothing left, only an aching emptiness. He pushed back the strands of hair that clung to her wet cheeks, and, even in that sparse light, she could see the love and acceptance in his weary eyes. She nuzzled into his chest, knowing deep in her heart this was where she belonged, and she was a fool, a complete and total fool, to think she could ever leave his side.

"I love you." He whispered into the top of her head, his deep voice resonating from within his chest. The words vanquished her fears, and she felt the pull of a smile on her heart. He lifted her chin with a calloused finger, and she peered into his eyes once more. "It may be selfish on my part, but I need you, Willie. I need to feel your hand in mine, and I need your voice of reason when I am acting the fool." She opened her mouth to speak, and he pressed his finger to her lips. "Let me finish. Most importantly, I need to tell you how much I appreciate your love for my brother. It is decent and pure, and you should hold no shame for what happened downstairs. It is one of the many reasons I love you so very deeply."

"But, it was wrong of me… I had no business…"

Scott put one hand on each side of her face and touched his thumbs to her lips. "No more talking." He moved closer and covered her mouth with his. The salt from her tears mingled with the taste of him, and she found herself breathless once more.

XXXXXXXX

"Think you can tell me the truth about one thing?" Val asked, fishing into his shirt pocket. Johnny said nothing. He just lay there, on the cot, one arm draped over his eyes, his fist clenched tight. Not finding what he sought in his shirt Val stood and dug into the pockets of his pants. "This." He said pulling out the paper. "It seems the old man was hanging on to this note when he died. It's signed Madrid." Johnny still didn't move but Val knew he had his attention by the set of his mouth. "You realize Love had no idea who you were, knew nothing about Madrid. Unfortunately, after finding this, he started poking around, asking a lot of questions and now…" He rubbed at the stubble on his cheek. "Now I figure he thinks you deserve hanging whether ya did this or not."

"Not sure it makes much difference what Love thinks." Johnny pushed up so his back was leaning against the wall. He looked around the room. "Come to think of it, where is your new boss?" His eyes glinted with mischief and his face flashed a smile, both faded as fast as they appeared.

"Damn it, Johnny, he ain't no boss a mine and you know it. I'd put that jackass on the first stage outta here if I could and then I'd let ya go. God knows, if you killed that bastard, you sure had reason to."

"Thanks, Val, but I ain't too sure it makes much difference what you think either."

"Yeah, suppose you're right." Val dipped his head and looked at the blood stained note. "Judge Sloane is due in early next week, suppose it's only gonna matter what he thinks, and a jury. If you let it get that far." Unfolding the paper he squinted, wishing he had his damn spectacles. Some of the letters were hard to make out. He stretched his arm until the words took shape.

"You want me to hold that for ya? Or better yet, maybe I can just tell ya what it says."

"Don't be a smart ass, I got it. It says, I took care of them, Pa. You can rest easy. Madrid." Val watched his friend, tried to read his expression but there was nothing to read. "You recognize that, right?"

"Wrote it, wrote it my last day with Grayson." He leaned forward and pulled the note from Val's fingers.

"And the blood?"

"Old blood belonged to the two men I killed that day, think you know who the fresh blood belongs to." He waved the paper in the air as if trying to dry it, then holding it still, he stared at it for a spell. When he spoke, his voice was low and hardened, like he didn't care about the killing, but Val knew he did care and it gnawed at him whenever it got the chance. "They thought they could take me, thought I was just a kid." He laughed. "Shit, they learned the hard way just how wrong they could be." He looked Val straight in the eyes. "It was a short lesson."

Val set elbows to knees and eyed his friend. "You were a kid, Johnny. What were ya, fifteen?"

"Thereabouts, kind a lost track."

"Damn, just a kid." Val shook his head. "Were they your first?"

"Yes and no. Killed the man I thought killed mama, but that was different. Almost killed another with my bare hands, but that was different too. Did shoot a few folks, just to spook em, Grayson said a little fear gave us an edge and most times he was right. Never killed on purpose before, never killed cause I thought it was right."

"Mind telling me what these two men did to deserve that honor?"

"Sure seems a fool thing now, but back then, well…" His voice trailed off and he scratched at his chest. "We was headed from one town to another and set up camp. There was some cause to celebrate on account that we took these three cowpokes for everything they had. Turned out they weren't cowpokes and they had a hell of a lot more than we thought, so we got to talking and dreaming about laying low for a while finding a real place, maybe start with some horses. Anyway, I wasn't feelin' too good, things were spinnin', ya know, so I roamed off by myself and that's when they caught up. By the time I made it back to camp Grayson was lying in a pool of his own blood and the men were riding off."

"So it wasn't you who shot him? Shit, I figured maybe you was the one and he was here for payback."

"He was here to settle a score alright but not so much for what I did, but more for what I didn't do."

"How do ya mean?" Val asked, watching him scratch again, this time his arm.

"Carted him ta town and dumped his ass at the doc's office. Figured he was dying but I couldn't just leave him where he fell."

"Then you went gunning for them?"

"That was the plan. He was the only pa I ever knew and, me and him, well, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't fun most times. No one was gonna gun him down and get away with it, no one." A big yawn followed those words then his hand went to the inside of his shirt for more scratching. Val just listened and watched. The only good thing was, as long as Johnny kept talking he wasn't noticing the signs, the signs Val had seen more than once over the years. "Damn near walked into them when I left the doc's office. Don't know why, but I never thought they'd ride into Nogales to cut loose. They was laughing about the way Grayson tried to smooth talk 'em and they thought it was pretty damn funny when their first bullet tore through his leg. One headed over to the livery, leaving just the two. I liked those odds. First one I got right between the eyes before he even cleared leather and the second, well he wasn't laughing no more. He tried me, in a fair fight but he didn't stand a chance."

"That still left one more."

"Yeah, but first I took what was mine and as I stood up there was a man watching. He'd seen the whole thing, held his hands up and he asked, you got a name kid?" Johnny shifted on the bed, tried rubbing his back against the wall. "So I told him, Madrid. Was the first time I ever used the name." He gave an odd sort of laugh and his eyes kind of glazed over. "It was the name in a story my mama used ta tell." He started scratching in earnest now, allowing the note to drift to the floor. He rubbed at his arm then a leg then his belly all the while working his back against the wall.

"You got bugs in here, Val?"

"No, Johnny, no bugs, you're starting in, I been watching."

"Shit. Guess maybe I did piss the wrong person off. Think I can interest you in…"

"Damn it Johnny, don't go there. I ain't ready ta…"

"I got some time yet, hell maybe a whole day maybe two, before the worst of it." He wrapped his arms around himself and gave in to a shiver. "How bout an extra blanket?"

Val stood and stretched out his back. "Now that I'll do." He walked into the small back room that doubled as the doc's office and grabbed a blanket from the shelf. He looked at the locked cabinet and knew he had the key in his desk drawer. Could he watch and not do anything to help his friend? Doubtful. Shit, but this wasn't fair, if he's gonna hang then where's the harm and if he don't? Hell he was starting to doubt that too. "Here ya go," he said handing over the blanket and forcing a smile.

A smile was returned. "Thanks," Johnny said as he wrapped the blanket around himself and pulled it tight. With a nod of his head he pointed toward the note. It had landed in the far corner of the cell. "You're gonna need that later."

"I suppose." Later, Val felt the weight of what was to come on his chest and let out a long sigh. He bent to pick up the note and stuffed it back into his pocket then leaned against the bars to listen.

"My hands were still wet with their blood when I went back into the doc's office. Grayson was lying in a bed, alone, colorless, and with a wheezing breath. I figured the devil was on his way to claim one of his own, so I wrote the note and jammed it in his hand. Never figured he'd read it but I wanted it known what kind of man Madrid was. I left enough money on the table for a burial and was gone, had me a man to kill. Sure wish I'd found him."

Val turned his chair around and sat down, draping his arms over the back. "Never known you to leave a job unfinished, Johnny. If there were three, why weren't three dead?"

Johnny looked away and busied himself, scratching at his jaw line then the back of his hand. "I was hot on his heels for a day, maybe two and then I got sick."

"Sick? Never known ya to stop trackin' just cuz ya had the sniffles."

"Wasn't no sniffles, Val."

"Ya mean sick like…" He waved a hand in Johnny's general direction. "Shit."

"Didn't know why, didn't know it was cuz of Grayson but damn if I didn't think I was dyin'." He was restless now, scratching and picking at the gray blanket that covered him. He looked anywhere but in Val's eyes. "Thought about makin' it happen, that is when I could string two thoughts together. Might a if my hands weren't shakin' so bad and I could a stopped pukin' and shittin' long enough. Actually caught myself wishin' the guy I was trailin' would double back and get the job done."

"That ain't an easy thing to go through, especially alone."

"Not sure havin' someone with me made it any easier the second time."

Johnny cast a telling look at Val and the lawman closed his eyes. His friend had gone through what no man should, not once but twice and now he was primed for a third.

XXXXXXX

Voices, she heard voices. They sounded far off but were echoing in her sleep, growing louder. Men's voices, but with a softness to them making her feel safe. She nuzzled into the warmth that surrounded her and smiled at the scent. Her eyes fluttered open and she realized where she was, wrapped in Scott's arms. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest and hear his whispered voice. "I don't want to disturb her, Murdoch. She's exhausted."

"If you say so, Scott. But neither of you look very comfortable. Have you been there all night? Was your brother so troublesome that you had to move into the hallway?"

"He's not here," Scott said.

"What do you mean, not here? Where did he go?"

Willie lifted her head and looked into Scott's eyes. His nod gave her the courage to speak. "He didn't want a spectacle so I helped him to Val's office during the night. It's what he wanted."

Scott nodded his approval and ran his hand up and down her arm, finishing with a gentle squeeze.

"Did you know about this, Scott?" Murdoch's voice was rising.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters. I hardly think he is being rational. I wanted him to discuss things with Mr. Randolph, get some legal counsel before making any rash decisions."

"He needed to feel he could take control of something, Murdoch," Willie said. "Please understand I did what I thought was best as did he."

"Regardless of your intentions, young lady, it was a grave error on your part. Why didn't you wake Scott and discuss it, why did you take this upon yourself?"

"Enough, Murdoch. She did what Johnny asked of her, nothing more. He's with Val, do you really think that's so bad?"

"To be honest, I don't know anymore," Murdoch said, shaking his head. "With each passing hour my fear grows and Johnny's words about never returning to Lancer become more and more foreboding."

Murdoch offered his hand and Willie took hold, pulling herself to her feet. She faltered slightly as the corridor gave way to a darkening fog. "Goodness, my legs fell asleep," she declared, grabbing hold of Murdoch's arm for support.

"Is it any wonder, sleeping on the floor like you did?" He offered a feeble smile. "Perhaps you should head over to the hotel and try to get some more sleep. I hardly think this was adequate and I'm sure Teresa would appreciate the company while I head over to the jail."

Willie wished she could reassure Murdoch, longed to tell him something that would lift his spirits but nothing came to mind. As inadequate as it was, she gave him a small hug, He responded with a reciprocating squeeze.

Lacking his usual grace, Scott pushed off the wall to stand, then leaned back heavily with a grunt.

Murdoch looked from Scott's face to his wrapped feet. "Are you up to joining me?"

"You go on ahead. I'm afraid I'm still moving slow and would like a few more layers added to these bandages."

"I'll help you." Willie offered while rushing to place her arm around Scott's waist. She watched as Murdoch looked from her to the room and back again.

"Do you feel that's wise?" he asked.

"I appreciate your concern, Murdoch, but," she lowered her voice to a near whisper. "I have already spent the night in there with both of your sons." She found her hand moving toward her belly and made a point of smoothing the front of her skirt instead. "I mean, people will think what they want."

"I suppose, but I know if you were my daughter…" He cleared his throat.

Willie felt the heat of a blush upon her cheeks and smiled a nervous grin. "Well then," she said turning to Scott, "let's get you fixed up so you can see your brother." Together, they moved passed Murdoch and into the room.

Scott eased himself onto the bed, reaching out he grabbed hold of Willie's hand. She closed her eyes for a moment, basking in his touch then slipped her hand free, moving to gather the bandages. She knelt before him and began twisting the strips of cloth around and around the previous layers. "I realize this may not be pretty, but it should make it easier for you to get around. Just don't overdo. Do you understand me?" There was no response and she looked up to find Scott leaning back, propped up on his elbows, looking at her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure. Am I?"

"You look all right." She rose from the floor and put her hand on his forehead. "No fever."

He pulled her down beside her on the bed. "That may be, but I do feel unwell. I should have never walked out on you like I did."

"Scott, it was the last thing you expected to hear, and I may have been speaking out of turn."

"If I had said, right then and there, it didn't matter, would you have believed me?"

She stared at him, not knowing what to say. "I think…" She turned the question over in her mind. "If I'm being honest, I would have believed you at the moment, but I fear some doubt would have crept in when I was alone."

He pulled her close, their lips almost touching, his eyes searching her face for the truth. "And now, when I say I wish you to be my bride? Do you believe me?"

"I do."

He slid off the bed and got down on one knee. "I'm afraid I no longer have the ring, it and my jacket were lost to the fire, but there are so many things that have become unimportant over these last few days. What is important, is us, together. With you by my side the good times are better and the bad times are a little easier to take. You make me laugh when I least expect it and you amaze me with the way your mind works. Willie, I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

TBC


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Val leaned forward and pulled the blanket up close under Johnny's chin knowing it would do little to stop the shivers. Johnny was somewhere between asleep and awake, drifting in and out, muttering then growing quiet. What he needed was for sleep to take hold, most likely it wouldn't. But, any he could grab would do him a world of good. Just a kid, he'd been just a kid the first time. Alone and not knowing the why of it, where was the fair in that? There wasn't any, no matter how you looked at it. Small wonder most things didn't scare him, after you've been to hell, twice, what was left to fear?

They both knew this was just the beginning. In a day or two he'd be curled in a ball on the floor. Damn, there'd be no hiding it everyone in town would know and Love would probably find pleasure in making sure folks got to see. He ran a hand down his face. He was so fucking tired. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of one single way this was going to come out in Johnny's favor.

Val stood, walked out of the cell to the window and peered over the curtain. Chester Clive walked past drinking from his bottle. He was always the one that set Green River to motion. Most nights he slept under the stairs at the hotel after eating whatever spoiled food they may have tossed at the end of the day. Now, he was headed for the woods, at the edge of town, to finish off his breakfast, if you can call whiskey breakfast. Later, he'd stroll down the street with his fork and wheelbarrow, shoveling shit. Most merchants would throw him a coin or two for his trouble.

It wouldn't be long before those same merchants unlocked their front doors, ready for business. The sounds would get louder and louder until it has hard for a man to think. So he needed to get his thinking out of the way now.

A soft moan came from the cell and Val pretty much figured Johnny was gonna be the next one to start his day, and it sure as hell wasn't about to be a good one. Turning from the window he looked at his friend once more. "Damn," he muttered, pulling open his desk drawer. He removed the small key, tucked in an envelope. If Johnny was gonna look in control, there was little time to waste.

"What's this?" Johnny asked as Val thrust a tin cup under his nose.

"You know damn well what it is now drink it and shut up." The look he got brought a lump to his throat and as soon as the cup was empty and back in his hand he turned away. "I'm gonna catch me some shut eye in the back here, promise me you'll stay outta trouble."

"I'll do my best, Val."

"That ain't no promise, but I'll take it," Val said as he closed the door. He leaned back and shut his eyes. Funny thing how a situation can make a man do something he never thought possible. He looked at the cup, just an ordinary tin cup, but by the way Johnny looked at him, it held something more valuable than gold. Guess from where Johnny stood, it did. He unlocked the cabinet and set the cup next to the brown bottle; he'd no doubt need them again.

L~L~L~L~L~L~L

Willie looked at Scott, his eyes full of hope. How she loved those eyes, their blue reminiscent of the decoration on the platter her mother reserved for the Sunday roast. They radiated warmth and one look made her feel safe and loved. He was waiting, waiting for her answer and she knew full well he was expecting a yes. A jump for joy, yell from the rooftops, yes. And it was the darndest thing but she just started to laugh. It started deep in her belly, as if that littlest Lancer found something to be remarkably funny and it grew, despite her efforts to keep it quiet. Her shoulders shook and then her mouth opened and it blurted out as a full-fledged guffaw.

"What?" Scott's look turned from hope to hurt. "What's so funny?" She reached out to pat his cheek still unable to control her laughter and nodded her head hoping to convey what was in her heart. Scott stiffened and released her hand, moving to get up. "I fail to see what's so funny."

"Yes, Yes." The words spilled out between giggles. "I will marry you."

She could see his shoulders relax but the crease above his brow deepened. "Then what is so funny?"

"This." She waved her hand in the air indicating the room. "Is this the story we're to tell our children when they ask about our wedding proposal? In a whore's bedroom, above a saloon?"

Scott ducked his head and when it came back up he was laughing too. "I believe this room belongs to five whores," he said, his eyes brimming with laughter's unshed tears. He gently pulled Willie from the bed, down onto the floor beside him, and into a warm embrace. "I guess it would be an unsavory tale, perhaps we'll have to relay the first…" His laughter ceased and he released his hold, pulling back. "Who are we telling?" His eyes searched her face. "Did you say…?"

She nodded then took his hands in hers and moved them to her belly.

"Ch-chil-children?" The word caught in his throat as his eyes followed their hands.

"If you don't mind, I hope it's just one to start."

"But… I thought…" She could see his mind turning and her skin prickled with goose bumps when the smile spread wide across his face.

"It would appear I was wrong." Scott opened his mouth to speak, but Willie cut him off. "Now, before you get any ideas, I won't be making a habit out of being wrong. So don't get used to it."

Scott laughed. "But when? How? Are you feeling alright? What can I do?" He rose awkwardly to his feet, extending his hand. "Here, let me help you up." He guided her to the bed with him and smiled.

"As for the how, I would like to think you know that part, but if you are in need of a demonstration I would be delighted, only you will have to wait."

"Oh, I would like that very much." He wrapped his arms around her and brought her to his lips. She surrendered to his kiss longing for more but knowing, at this moment that was not to be. When their lips parted he ran his hand over her belly once more. "Now about the when…"

"It's not as if we have that many times to consider. I think it would have to be Christmas."

"Christmas? But its March?" She watched the creases in Scott's brown knit then relax then knit again. "That doesn't give us much time."

"No, it doesn't, which is why I was so terribly afraid. What will Murdoch say, and…?"

"Shhhh. It will be fine. We'll think of something."

Are you sure you're ready for another Lancer to keep out of trouble?"

The smile slipped from his face. "I haven't done very well with the Lancer sitting in that jail cell."

"He'd say that wasn't your responsibility, and you know it."

"That may be, but I feel…"

"Guilty?"

"Yes, you have just given me everything I've ever dreamed of, only problem is, in that dream, Johnny is there to share in it. What if he isn't?"

"I don't know, Scott, I simply don't know."

L~L~L~L~L~L

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Huh?" Val rubbed at his eyes, sleep clouding his vision. Damn, how long did he sleep? "Love?"

"What kind of jail are you running, Sheriff?"

"How so?" Val rolled off the bed and stuffed his feet into his boots.

"You do realize that the prisoner could have simply walked away? You left his cell door wide open. Fortunately I've rectified the situation." Love stood there, dangling the key from his fingers.

"Gimme that." Val lunged forward and stripped Love of the ring. "For your information, Mr. Love, that prisoner walked into my jail of his own free will. He's a good man, better than you can ever hope to be and I intend to prove that to both you and Judge Sloane."

"Hmph! Good Man. He's a cold blooded killer. Who knows how many men he's gunned down, and he'll only have to pay for one. There's gratitude for you, the man who raised him, dead."

Val sighed. "You are talking out of your ass, Mr. Love, and it ain't pretty. It looks bad now, but give me time. I'll prove he's innocent."

"Innocent? Why, he hasn't been innocent since the day he was born. I knew there was no justice in this town. My report will be on its way to Sacramento before week's end and you will soon be out of a job, Mr. Crawford."

"Damn you, Love." Val bumped him as he walked through the narrow doorway and straight to the cell door. He considered unlocking it but figured he'd pick his battles, and, right now, this wasn't one. As much as he hated Love, in the eyes of the law, he was right and Johnny wasn't doing anything to make it look otherwise. He stared at his friend. He looked relaxed, leaning back against the wall the way he was. His eyes were closed and the crooked smile told that for now, the suffering was over.

"Looks like you're the one that got into trouble, Val," Johnny tipped his head back and squinted. "I've been a regular choir boy."

"Ya, well, keep it that way."

"I would have to agree with you there, Val," Murdoch said as he walked into the sheriff's office. "You're looking better than the last time I saw you, Johnny."

"Feelin' better, Murdoch. Leg still hurts some though."

"I suppose that is to be expected, but you're fortunate you didn't do more damage." He closed the door behind him. "I just came from Mr. Randolph's office, are you ready for the fight to get you out of here?"

"Yeah, well, about that…"

"Mr. Lancer, with the investigation conducted so far, I find it highly unlikely that this killer will be set free. And the faster you come to terms with that idea, the easier it will be to get on with your life."

"If you don't mind, Mr. Love, I think I'll still hold out a little hope." Murdoch looked at Val as he spoke. "My son did not kill an unarmed man."

Val couldn't hold Murdoch's stare and his eyes fell to the earthenware crock he carried in his hands. "What've you got there Murdoch?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"You know, as I was leaving Mr. Randolph's office I was stopped by Alma Lutz, the seamstress. It seems she's worried about you Johnny and sent you something to eat." He lifted the lid and took a deep whiff. "Beef cake in gravy." He walked, past Val, toward the cell.

The aroma made Val realize how hungry he was. "Miss Lutz?" He asked. "Do you mind telling me, Johnny, what you did to deserve such attention from her?"

"Oh, I don't know; something about a bat that was in her shop one evening. Just helped get rid of it is all."

"It seems she is most appreciative, Johnny," Murdoch said, "and it does smell delicious."

"Don't feel much like eating, but thanks, Murdoch. How 'bout something sweet? She tuck any of her apple dumplings in there?"

"No, Johnny, I'm afraid not.""

"Well, give it Val then, he looks about ready to start drooling over there."

"Ya sure, Johnny?" Val was asking as he took the crock from Murdoch's hands. "It sure does smell good. Boy howdy I ain't never had her beef cakes or her apple dumplings for that matter."

"Guess I'm just lucky, Val."

"You're something, alright. I just ain't too sure it's lucky."

L~L~L~L~L~L~L~L

Willie buried her head into Scott's neck, drawing in the scent of him. She was content and for a brief moment there was nothing else in the world that mattered, not Teresa or Murdoch or... "Gracious, what time is it?" she asked jumping up.

"I'm not sure, why?"

Willie studied his face for a beat. She vowed to herself, no more secrets, but how would he take this? "I made a promise to your brother."

"Now, wait a minute, I understood and accepted the kiss but what else? What kind of promise?"

She walked across the room to the window, straining to catch sight of the church steeple. Past ten, he should be doing okay. Not great but okay. Turning back to Scott she put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the small bottle. "I promised your brother, I would not let him suffer."

"You can't be serious." Scott was on his feet. "You're going to give him laudanum? Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?"

"Yes, I know it will be difficult for some to understand, but it wasn't you I expected to convince. Scott, you know what he's in for. You've seen it and I've told you about David. How can you sit there and think putting him through that, in a jail cell, could in any way be good? He's terrified of being seen. I think that scares him more than the sickness or… or…," She swallowed hard; lord knows she'd thought it enough but saying it was harder, "…or dying."

"We aren't discussing Johnny's death. Val will think of something, he has to." Scott blew out a breath. "I understand your motives, but really even if Val allows it, Love certainly won't."

"I don't plan on letting either of them know, It'll be our secret."

"Another one? I'm not sure how to say this, but…"

"But what, Scott?" She had her hands on her hips. They'd gone toe to toe before but this was something she had no intention of backing down on. "Scott?"

"Isn't it enough that we have to rush a wedding, but now you want to make regular visits to my brother, in jail, brining him… Murdoch will not be pleased."

"Then maybe we need to figure out a way to help him understand, because I intend to keep Johnny comfortable by putting it in his coffee, just like that vile Grayson did. No one will be suspicious. And once I determine the right amount, I told Sam I'd back away and you and Murdoch could handle it."

"Sam? Sam knows about this?" Scott asked, walking up to her and placing his hands on her shoulders. "You had this planned before leaving Spanish Wells? How did you know?"

She turned away, looking out the window once more. "I overheard Sam and Murdoch talking Saturday morning. That, combined with Johnny's reaction to your little joke about putting laudanum in the coffee told me pretty much all I needed." She felt Scott's presence at her back and turned to face him. "You and I both know, with his leg like it is, he could never have made it into town without some help."

"Yes, Stu. He was a tremendous help in all this. I'm glad he's dead, because if he wasn't…"

"I know, Scott. And the same goes for Grayson."

Scott raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Well, what are you waiting for? You need to get some coffee. I'll meet you downstairs and we'll head across the street together."

L~L~L~L~L~L

"Sure wish I had some bread to sop up the rest of this gravy," Val said as he wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. "Hard to figure, a woman who cooks like that being single." He looked at Johnny. "And all you did was get rid of a bat?"

"Yeah, Val, that's all."

"Damn, with all I do as sheriff, you'd think I'd rate some a those apple dumplings of hers. You say they're good, huh?"

"They're good," Johnny said, still looking pretty comfortable. He was stretched back on the cot with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed.

The ache of guilt Val felt for giving him that god-awful shit faded a bit. It dimmed a little more when he looked at Murdoch and saw less worry on the man's face. Where was the harm?

"Johnny, is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?" Murdoch asked.

"You mean besides those dumplings?" Johnny smiled, his eyes still closed.

"I suppose I could ask her."

Johnny came to life and propped himself up on his elbows. "Would you?"

The door to the office opened and in walked Willie with Scott close behind. Val watched Johnny sit forward on the cot. His eyes bright and he licked his lips. "I sure am glad to see you." If he didn't know better he'd think Willie was the person he'd been waiting for. But there is no way she would be the one to feed Johnny that shit, no way. He figured it to be Sadie or even Flo, but never Willie.

Willie was quick to respond. "Tom made you a fresh pot of coffee, Johnny, just the way you like it. I brought you a cup."

"Is that so?" Johnny smiled. "Did you bring sugar? I like it with lots of sugar."

"Johnny, since when…" Murdoch started.

"I had a feeling you might say that and despite Scott's protests I put in plenty. I knew after you were sick like you were last night, something hot and sweet would be a comfort."

"Brother, you've got a keeper here." He pushed to his feet and reached through the bars. "You better hang on to her or I might steal her away." He grabbed the cup Willie offered and took a sip. "Sure hope you brought more."

"Let's see how this sits."

"Speaking of sitting," Scott said, "If you don't mind I need to do exactly that. These bandages only provide so much comfort."

"Right here, come sit over here, Scott." Johnny spun the chair Val had been sitting in earlier as he hobbled back to the cot. "That okay with you, Val?" he asked, easing himself back down to the bed.

Val looked at Love, who scowled and shook his head. "You know it is, Johnny," he said.

"Are you trying to infuriate me, Sheriff Crawford?"

"Now, why would I want to do a thing like that?"

"Mr. Love," Scott moved directly in front of the Attorney General, "If I happened to get myself arrested, there would be no problem, would there?"

"What are you getting at?" Love asked.

Scott moved closer to Love, rubbing his palm over his clenched fist. "If I recall, my father received two days for hitting Mr. ehmm, Gray. Certainly hitting an attorney general would at least garner that much time."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Lancer?"

"Me, Mr. Love? No." Scott shook his head and took another step closer.

"Very well," Love stepped back.

Val couldn't contain his grin, knowing full well Scott would like nothing more than to slug the bastard. Hell, he wouldn't mind taking Love down himself.

"Spend as much time as you want in that cell," Love waved his hands in the air. "It makes no difference to me, but the door will be locked, at all times. Have I made myself clear?"

"Sure you have, Love," Val said as he tossed the key to Scott. "You heard the man, keep that door locked."

Scott smiled. "Yes, Sir," he said. Willie moved to his side to help him as he limped into the cell. Scott stopped her at the door. He lifted her chin and gave her a quick kiss. "Get some rest. You know where to find me." He then looked at Love and closed the heavy door.

Val glared at Love. "Happy now?"

"I won't be happy until you're out of a job, Sheriff. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a wire to send. Gentlemen." He turned to Willie and offered a bow. "Ma'am."

"Damn, Jackass." Val fumed as he slammed the door behind Love. "What did Mr. Randolph have to say about all this, Murdoch?"

"For starters, he said Johnny needs to declare his innocence. He said that by not saying anything he is making himself look guilty and therefore is not helping our case."

Val watched as all eyes turned toward Johnny. Johnny's eyes were lost in the cup he still held.

"Johnny?" Scott reached out and gave him a nudge. "You need to tell us you didn't do this, it is the best defense we've got, at the moment."

Johnny drained the last of the coffee from the cup and handed it to Scott. "Thanks," he said; his eyes on Willie. "Hope you'll bring me more a little later."

TBC


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Johnny watched Scott as his eyes followed Willie to the door. He had the strangest look on his face, a look Johnny had seen only once before; when Scott was eating a fancy dessert at some big city hotel. Funny thing naming a dessert after a girl, all Johnny knew was if her dessert could do that to a man, he would much rather have this Sue Flay in the flesh. He couldn't hold back the groan or the smile that followed the thought, not that he wanted to. Closing his eyes, he settled back against the wall, the warmth oozed out from his belly giving him a couple more reasons to smile. This was actually working out better than he'd hoped. Shit, that wasn't exactly right, 'cause if it were he'd be home, in his own bed, wondering why the hell he drank so much tequila. He cracked his eyes open just to make sure, but this was definitely not home and this was definitely not tequila. He snorted. How long before they each figured out what the other was doing? He sure wasn't gonna let on. A twist of guilt tightened his gut, what the fuck was wrong with him? These were his friends, his family and three of those friends and family were staring at him.

Scott had moved to the chair and his feet were propped up on the edge of Johnny's cot. Val was resting on the corner of his desk and Murdoch stood beside him, and they were all waiting. Waiting for him to say something, if only he could… He looked at each face trying to remember, it took a minute then it came to him. They were waiting for him to say he didn't do this, waiting to hear he didn't gun down an unarmed man, as if it would make a difference. And why the hell did they need this? To give them hope? Something to hang on to? Shit, that'd only stretch things out. Nope, that was not gonna happen. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't cruel. They didn't see it now, but they will. They'll have to.

"He ain't gonna say. So we can quit eyeing him," Val said as he moved across the floor, managing to make each board groan. He leaned one hand against the wall not once breaking his stare.

Murdoch shook his head, and looked from Johnny to Scott. "I don't understand." There was a hitch in his voice that gave away his struggle to stay in control. "Why not?"

"He's got his reasons. Not saying I agree with them or even understand them but…"

"Damn it, Val, don't encourage him." It was clear Murdoch was fighting his anger, he jammed his fists in his pockets and his lips went tight.

"Ain't." Val shook his head, eyes still locked on Johnny. "But he can be a stubborn mule, kind a like a few other men I've come across, and you sure as hell know that."

Murdoch's face sagged making him look worn to the bone and he dropped his weight against the desk. "Not you too, Val, you don't believe he did this. Do you?"

Val looked away. "Don't matter what I think."

"It does to us." Murdoch pressed off the desk and walked toward the cell, gripping the bars until his knuckles turned white. "Johnny?"

Damn that look in his eyes, been a while since he'd seen it, not since… Shit, his old man was scared and he wasn't doing a damn thing to help.

"Johnny, you act like you don't care if you live or die. As long as I've known you…" He looked away. "You're a fighter, that's what you do."

"I don't want to die, if that's what you want to know. There's a lot left I want to do and a person or two I hoped to meet." He looked at Scott and held his stare for a minute. To be truthful there was only one person he wanted to meet, but he sure wasn't seeing a way to make that happen. "But the way I figure it, there's only one way this is gonna end and as much as I hate Love, he's right. The quicker you get used to the idea the better off you'll be."

"So that's it? You're giving up? Quitting? No!" Murdoch's voice caused Johnny to flinch. "I won't allow it, not after what we went through last year."

"Ya don't need to shout. I can hear ya just fine."

"Maybe you can hear me, but you're not listening. Look at you." He pushed a hand through the bars. "Stretched out like you don't have care in the world! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me?" Johnny sat forward and slid to the end of the bed. "Would you be happier if I started praying, begging for another pink to ride in and save my sorry ass? Well that ain't gonna happen, Murdoch, that card's already been played."

"Johnny…" Murdoch's voice cracked.

"Have you ever been in a hole like this?" The question was meant for Murdoch but he looked at Scott and he watched the truth of the situation crease his brow. "Cause that's what it is, a deep pit, with straight sides and you all are running around looking for rope. Well I got news for ya. There ain't no rope." Scott opened his mouth to speak but Johnny shook his head.

"You know I haven't, son," Murdoch said.

"Then don't judge me." Johnny pulled himself up and stood in front of Murdoch. "Ain't telling ya anything you don't already know, but, sometimes things are out of our control, it's never easy to admit and it's damn scary but all you can do is make peace and pray ya don't make a God damn fool of yourself." Murdoch wouldn't look at him; his eyes focused on scraping some rust from the bars with his thumbnail. Johnny leaned in to get into his line of sight. "Why won't you let me do that?"

Murdoch's hand stopped moving and his eyes narrowed, he straightened and he looked at Johnny long and hard before speaking. "Because I can't, Johnny, I can't." He turned to face Val. "I've sent a wire to the governor."

"Sir?" Scott asked. "What do we hope that will accomplish?"

"Mr. Randolph was concerned that Love my have a vendetta against your brother, perhaps some connection to Grayson. The whole town's talking about how he has him tried and convicted." He was quiet for a minute. "Maybe there was another gun… a gun he took."

"Don't you think, if there was another gun I'd a told you?"

Val looked at Murdoch then Johnny. "Now why the hell would we think that? You ain't given us a straight answer since this whole thing started?"

Johnny dropped back onto the cot, regretting it the second his leg bumped the bars sending a shot of pain straight through to the back of his eyeballs. "Damn it," he said rolling back and grabbing hold of his leg. "And damn you, Val!"

"Now take it easy," Scott's voice was nearly drowned out by the roar in his ears but the heavy hand that landed on his shoulder then squeezed tight was more than he could take.

"Damn it, Scott, just leave me alone." Sparks flashed behind closed lids as he moved to push Scott's hand away. He hated this, hated everything about this, and he especially hated the fact he couldn't come up with a way out. He needed time; time to think without everyone jawing at him, without his leg screaming at him, and without the fucking need crowding him so tight he couldn't think about anything else.

"You feeling better, now?"

Johnny nodded. He was still breathing hard but the laudanum had fought through and for now was winning.

"Good."

He heard the scrape of Scott's chair and the grunt of relief when he sat.

"Are we through?" Val sniped. "Cause near as I can figure this ain't getting us nowhere. Seems ta me if we can figure out some of the other things, like who shot your horse out from under you, Scott, or who killed Stu, we might find someone else ta blame for this mess. Shit, the only thing we know for sure is it wasn't Grayson or Johnny that pulled the trigger on Stu."

"Back at the cabin, we talked about it being the boy. Does anyone know where he was through all this?" Scott asked.

"It seems that Willie and Teresa met up with him on the way to town. I don't imagine he expected to meet up with anyone at that hour."

"And what about them clothes he was wearing," Val added. "Saying his sister gave them to him to wear. Just don't make sense."

"Clothes? What clothes?" Scott asked

"That's right you didn't see him, you road on ahead," Murdoch said. "He was dressed like Johnny, wearing a bright shirt and conchos. Not what he was wearing the other times we've seen him."

"Like I told you before, the man I saw gun down Stu was dressed just like that, but what about his horse, rifle and spurs? He was definitely wearing spurs."

"The kid didn't have any a those. He was on foot," Val said.

Scott shook his head. "Remy made sure he told most everyone he couldn't ride or shoot a gun. I'm guessing, since he hasn't been honest about much else, I doubt he's been honest about that."

"Coyote and badger."

"What's that, Johnny?" Murdoch asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud, s'all. Gettin' kinda tired though," Johnny said. "And Scott here, he's looking spent too." He settled into the mattress and laced his fingers over his chest.

"Johnny?"

"Yeah, Murdoch."

"Get some sleep and I'll bring Teresa by before I take her back to Lancer."

"I'd like that, thanks."

Val pulled his hat from the peg by the door and pressed it onto his head. "Think I'll try ta track down that missing horse and rifle, maybe have another talk with the boy about his choice of shirts. Either of you need anything before I go?"

"I'm kind a thirsty, Val, maybe a cup like before, if ya don't mind."

"You sure, Johnny?"

"Hmmm yup, real sure."

With a dip of his head, Val walked into the back room. When he came out Murdoch was gone and Scott was stretched out on his bed. Johnny licked the last few drops from his lips and handed the cup back to Val. "Thanks," he said then rolled onto his side. He was done, done talking and done listening and done being stared at. It was time to get things straight and thanks to Val, now he could. But, damn if he couldn't get that poem out of his head. Over and over he heard it. Coyote and badger hunt as a pair. When working together there's never despair. When all is done, and there's no more to eat, if the coyote's smart, he's the last on his feet. Who was playing who? He had a pretty good idea and once he figured out a few more things, he'd know what to do."

_**JML**_

He woke, hands squeezing the side of the cot, sweat dripping into his eyes. "Shit" His dreams were always on the edge of crazy, but now…. He sat up; eyes wide open, and pushed back against the wall. His heart was damn near beating out of his chest and he forced himself to breathe through his nose, taking long, deep, breaths. It all seemed so real and now he couldn't remember anything except the end. And he sure didn't like the end.

Darkness surrounded him, cool against his heated flesh. There was safety in darkness. Hidden in shadows, he could lie still; go unnoticed until he wanted his company known. He looked to the other bed, Scott was lost to those very same shadows, but his near snore spoke of sleep. They'd spent the day in this tiny cell, in body, but between Val and Willie, Johnny wasn't all that sure where the rest of him had been. Not giving Scott any of the answers he was looking for, that much he knew, and it had set Scott's jaw, eventually he quit asking.

There really were no answers, least none Scott wanted to hear. Scott wanted to be told the girl did it or there was another gun. He even could have accepted a struggle, an accident, anything, anything at all, as long as it offered proof that Johnny Lancer wasn't a cold-blooded killer. Well, Johnny Lancer was no liar that much he could say for himself.

Shit, he was tired, but there would be no more sleep tonight. He'd finally got the damn poem out of his head but now, each time he closed his eyes… shit, there'd be no more sleep. Suppose he'll have plenty of time for that once that rope slips over his head. Seeing Grayson suck in his last breath made it close to worthwhile. Maybe if he concentrated on that, then he could fall asleep. Damn, if he' hadn't been right though, the bastard did die with a fucking smile on his face. Nope, there would be no more sleep tonight.

He felt it before there was any other sign. Someone new was in the room. There was no change of light, no sound but he knew the door had opened, felt the change in the air. Only when the door was pressed closed did he hear the muffled rattle of the glass followed by the soft scuff of feet, someone was feeling their way across the room until they found Val's desk with a bump. "Shit," she whispered. At least he knew that much, it was a woman, but who, and what did she want? It wasn't Willie, she'd been in earlier with supper, brought him more coffee and some chicken from the hotel. Scott sure wolfed the chicken down, not him though; a couple of bites were all he wanted once he spied the custard pie. That went down easy, real easy. Sure wouldn't mind another piece right about now. Damn, he hated how his mind wandered on this shit. "Johnny?" she whispered. He still couldn't place the voice so he said nothing. "Johnny, it's me, Sophie. I got something for you."

"Sophie?" He slid toward the end of the bed, close to the bars. "What? What you got?"

"Damn it. I knew it was you." Val slammed the door to the backroom against the wall as he burst into the room. The bright light of his lantern stung Johnny's eyes and they squeezed shut but not before he saw Sophie standing less than a foot from the bars, a bottle of laudanum in her outstretched hand. "Don't you be giving him that. You don't know what you're doing. You want ta kill him?"

"The way I hear it, it won't be me doing the killing, Val. You're the law in this town and it will be you puttin' a noose round his neck. I's just trying to make his last days a comfort since I got wind a what he's been doing." His eyes still hurt but they were staying open, for the most part. Sophie had her hands wrapped around the bars looking at him, the bottle was gone. "I feel real bad Johnny, Stu was bragging one day how you'd be a laudanum eater and I didn't believe him. Think I'd believe it about anyone but you. Shit, I never met anyone stronger than you Johnny, just goes ta show, if you can get caught by it, what chance in hell have I got? Huh?"

Johnny covered one of her hands with his. "Sophie, don't go talking like that. You only just started, after being sick, right?"

She nodded.

"You can break it, you'll see. And don't you worry 'bout me everything will turn out as it should."

"But…" The tears started down her cheeks leaving black streaks. "Oh, Johnny, you's a good man, why remember that time my Herman he came lookin' for me?"

He pulled himself up so he could look her in the face. "Sure, I remember. We sent him runnin' with his tail between his legs, didn't we?" he laughed.

"You can bet your last dollar we did. Why I bet he's still runnin'. He wasn't gonna mess with the likes a you. No sir, me shackin' up with Johnny Madrid." She was laughing now. "You told him, if he so much as got within smellin distance of this town you'd know it. Course you scared him so good, a fella could a smelled Herman from a fair distance." She stopped and looked at Johnny, the laughter gone. "I know's I'm bein' selfish but what happens when he hears you're dead? I mean… I cain't go with him Johnny, I'd rather be dead than go with him."

"Come here." He slipped a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close to the bars. "Sophie, things are different now. You have friends here, Tom and Flo, they won't let the likes of him hurt you. And Val and Scott, they'll help you out anytime." He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "Anytime," he repeated, almost to himself. He released his hold and straightened. "But most of all, Sophie, you're stronger now and you've learned a thing or two about defending yourself. You been practicing like I showed you?"

"You know I have, Johnny." Her smile returned. "Why I could shoot the dick off a man from more than twenty paces."

"See? You don't need me."

"Don't you talk like that, Johnny, we all needs ya." She sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her nose then down the front of her dress.

"You go on back to the saloon; I'll be right here a while longer," Johnny said. She looked at him and the tears started filling her eyes again. "Val?"

Val hadn't moved; he stood with the lantern in one hand and the laudanum in the other. He was staring at it, looking up only at the sound of his name. Johnny nodded his head in Sophie's direction and Val took the hint. "I'll walk you back," he said. "Only thing is, what the hell should I do with this?"

She looked at the bottle and then back at Johnny. "I was only trying to help ya know."

"Ya, I know and thanks." He dropped back onto the cot, his leg hurting more than it should with all he had in him. Shit. He would a been real grateful for what she was offering. Real grateful.

"I'll take it." She grabbed the bottle and held it to her chest, then looked at Johnny again. "Naw, you keep it, Val."

Val set the lantern on his desk then opened his top drawer. He looked inside then slid the drawer closed, tucking the bottle in his shirt pocket. With a glance back he took Sophie's elbow and together they walked out the door.

"You hear that?" Johnny asked without looking toward the second cot.

"I did."

"Promise me you'll look out for her, if she needs it."

"I promise, but I'm guessing she's not going to need it, Brother."

"Yeah, I'm guessin' you're right, Scott. Thanks"

"Johnny, I…"

"Don't, Scott, there's nothing left you can say."

"I don't understand why you're giving up. What aren't you telling us? Why are you willing to hang for something you didn't do?"

"Shut up, Scott!" He swallowed hard, Dios, this hurt. "Why are you so fucking sure I didn't do this? You don't think I could kill a man, a man without a gun? Well I have and it's never those men that haunt me, never."

"Johnny?" Damn, there was that look, the one he hadn't seen from his brother for a long time, not since those first few months at Lancer. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and looked away. He could take most anything except that look. "Johnny, you didn't."

"What is it you don't get, Scott? I told you I would, told you that first night. You didn't believe me? You better believe me now, and you damn sure better believe it when they hang me."

"But, why? Why would you do that? His life wasn't worth yours, how could you possibly think this was worth it?"

"I'm glad he's dead, Scott, and God help me I'd do it again, but if I need to give you a reason, one reason… I can't, I'm not sure why I finally pulled the trigger."

"What about the family, Johnny? Murdoch? Teresa? Do you have any idea what this will do to them? How could you? How could you be so selfish?"

"Selfish? Is that what you think of me?"

"I don't know, I don't know."

"Think what you want, but know this, I would do anything to protect this family."

"I believe that, Johnny."

"Grayson being dead was the only way for that to happen. He would a never let go, not of me, not of Murdoch and once he knew about that baby of yours, well…"

"You know?"

"Yeah, I know, didn't know then, but… Damn, Scott, the things that man's done, the things he's made others do…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I've made a decision."

"A decision? I'm not sure I'm going to like this."

"I want to see you two get married, Scott, I want to be the best man at your wedding. You are gonna marry her right? She said yes?"

"Yes, Johnny, she said yes."

"Good, then as soon as Judge Sloane arrives I'm going to plead guilty. Stringing this out won't do no good. And now you have a perfect excuse to get married."

"The nerve of that Sophie tryin' to sneak in here. What was she thinking?" Val stopped and looked from Johnny to Scott. "Shit. What did I break up?"

"Nothin' Val, nothing," Johnny said, but I do have a favor to ask. I want to talk to Remy, alone. Do you think you can make that happen?"

Val looked from Scott to Johnny. "Sure I reckon I can take care of that."

TBC


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Scott watched Johnny run his finger around the inside of the cup then lick the last traces from his fingertips. Were they doing the right thing? He wasn't so sure and that doubt increased with each new day. According to Willie they'd give him just enough to keep Johnny functioning but that wasn't happening. By the end of the day he'd be damn near useless. It was almost as if someone else was doing the same thing, but who? Val caught Sophie, but had she found another way?

A boyish grin covered Johnny's face when he looked up and caught Scott staring. "What?" he asked with a shrug. "With you and Willie going to Spanish Wells, it's gonna be a long day."

"I'll be back by mid-afternoon." Scott forced a smile and eased a foot into his first boot. It had been nearly a week, but to his surprise the milestone was not as painful as he expected. Thanks to the new pair of oversized boots Willie brought him and the extra layers of fabric arranged into the bottom, courtesy of Alma.

"Be sure and tell Willie thanks for me."

"You already thanked her four times today, Johnny, I'm not sure she needs to hear it again."

"Maybe not, but I'm grateful." Johnny swallowed hard and the smile disappeared. He put the empty cup down on the tray that lay at the foot of the bed then leaned back, resting his head on laced fingers. "I see that look of yours, Scott. This ain't easy for you, I know, but it's my only choice. I hope you can understand."

"It's easier sometimes than others, but I'm trying, Johnny, I'm trying."

Johnny's lips stretched into a thin smile and the lines on his forehead disappeared, his current demeanor a sharp contrast to the whirl of near panic he exhibited while waiting for Willie to arrive with breakfast. The change went a long way toward helping Scott understand. He tugged on his second boot.

"Well?" Johnny asked. "How do they feel?"

Scott stood and put all his weight on one foot then the other before taking his first step, there was a slight sting. He paced back and forth in the cell, his stride lengthening with his confidence. "Not bad, not bad. I think I can do this."

"Good, cause I want you out of here when Val brings in Remy."

"And just why are you so sure he finally found him?"

"Maybe you shouldn't sleep so good, Brother." Johnny winked and Scott knew he was going to be kept on the outside yet again.

"Damn it, Johnny, why do you have to be so tight lipped? This lack of candor reminds me of your plan for Pardee." Scott pushed open the cell door and turned to look at his brother through the bars. "And we both know how well that turned out."

"Hey, we came out on top of that one." Johnny propped himself up onto his elbows. "I don't recall hearing about your plan."

Scott released a slow breath. "I'd like to think we've added some trust since then, or am I mistaken?"

"I trust you."

"You have an odd way of showing it." Scott felt his anger building. "The only confidence you've shared is that you plan on pleading guilty. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that gives me the impression of a man with a death wish." Scott waited, hoping to be corrected. He wasn't, so he pushed on. "Grayson was evil and he did a lot of damage, certainly a jury would find the killing justified, especially a jury from any of the surrounding towns." The derisive laugh that was Johnny's response came as no surprise, but that didn't mean he liked it. "And when exactly do you plan on letting Mr. Randolph in on your guilty plea, or are you going to spring that on him at the trial?"

"For now, the less people that know the better."

"Why's that, Johnny?"

"Because, no one else needs to know, that's why." He plopped back down on the mattress. "I told you. Be happy with that."

"Well, in that case, thank you." Scott threw his arms in the air and turned away from the cell. This was getting nowhere.

"You're welcome, it seemed right, since it was your words that convinced me."

"Me? Don't put this on me. I only reminded you of what your death would do to…" Damn, had he been wrong? It wasn't the girl he was trying to protect or even Remy. Johnny's words, 'I would do anything to protect this family', carried new weight. Protecting his family, it was what Johnny did best, and no doubt, it was what he was trying to do now, no matter what it cost him.

"Let's just say you set me straight on a few things and leave it at that."

"I'm not sure I can do that."

"I'm not sure you have a choice."

Johnny stared at him and Scott stood his ground, staring back. He felt helpless and that was not a feeling he was used to, even hog-tied in that cabin, there was something to focus on, work toward, but this, there was nothing he could do about this. A shiver started in the base of his spine and worked its way up his back, forcing Scott to look away. Something didn't feel right but he'd get nowhere this way. "You win, Johnny, I'll let it go." For now he'd let it go.

"Remember, even Val doesn't know, only you and Murdoch. And the only reason I told Murdoch was so he'd understand why I was pushing so hard for your wedding, things are gonna move fast once I talk to Sloane." Johnny sat up and swung his good leg over the tray, using it he pushed back against the wall.

"About that, Willie is most appreciative, but with so few people knowing you can still change your mind, after the wedding. Nothing good can come from pleading guilty Johnny. Nothing."

"Let it go, Scott. I was thinking, Willie probably wants to get married at Lancer, but I don't think Love would agree with that."

"You're right on both counts there, Johnny. The church would be a close second. While I find a saloon proposal and a jailhouse wedding rather endearing, she however does not share those sentiments."

"I'll see what I can do, but we both know Love won't be too happy to oblige with that one either." Johnny looked around the room. "Can't understand why she wouldn't want to get married in a place as nice as this," he said with a laugh.

"Well you know women." Their eyes met and Scott found himself laughing too. There he was, the Johnny he knew so well, starring back at him. This is how it had been in the mornings, clarity wedged between frantic obsession and boneless stupor. It was these moments that convinced him what he was doing had to be right and the others that clouded his conviction with doubt.

He heard the attorney clear his throat. It was always the same, one…, two…, three…, four…, five. The door opened and in came Josh Randolph. Scott was certain he did it intentionally, being a man of great integrity, it afforded him peace of mind. His ears never picked up unintended conversations.

"Good morning gentlemen and how are we today?"

"Scott here is pretty good. Me? Gotta tell ya, nothing's changed since yesterday, or the day before so I don't know why you bother."

"Yes, about that, there has been one rather important change." Scott looked at Johnny, trying to read his expression. "Mr. Love paid me a visit this morning; it appears arrangements have been made to move your trial to San Jose. He believes the Lancers hold too much sway for an impartial jury and apparently he found others who agree with him. Judge Sloane will sign off on it when he arrives and you could be moved as early as Wednesday."

"Wednesday, huh?" Johnny laughed.

"I warned you this could happen, John, so I know you are hardly surprised. Though I am impressed by the speed with which Love accomplished this."

Johnny's grin remained yet Scott couldn't tell if Love had just played into his hands or if this was a serious setback or if it would even matter once Johnny pled guilty.

"It's not too late, I can try to circumvent his actions, at the very least, delay them."

"Nope, don't bother. You can go."

Randolph looked at Scott and shook his head. "Very well, you know where to find me."

The door closed and Scott felt his stomach knot, even though Johnny wasn't reacting, this couldn't be good. "Johnny, talk to me, what does this mean?"

"Nothing, Scott, nothing at all."

"If you don't mind," Scott said, his eyes following Mr. Randolph as he walked past the window. "I think I'll ask someone who may actually talk to me." The door slammed shut louder than he intended.

"Mr. Randolph," Scott called out. The attorney stopped at the door to his office and waited for Scott to catch up. It wasn't far but, with each step, he discovered that these boots weren't as comfortable as he first thought. "What does this mean, exactly?"

"I'll do my best to answer your question, Scott, in my office. I don't like to discuss such matters in the street." He held open the door. "Sit, I know this is your first day on your feet, it must be uncomfortable."

"Thanks," Scott said easing into the closest chair, one that was decidedly too small and entirely too hard for comfort. He squirmed and looked about the office for a more comfortable option, there were none.

Mr. Randolph leaned back against his desk, removed his spectacles, and wiped them clean with a cloth he pulled from his pocket. "This isn't good news, Scott. I had hope for a sympathetic jury, one that knew John, trusted him. It was, quite frankly, our only chance. By taking the trial so far away, not only will the jury be unfamiliar with him, but those that could be character witnesses will be unable to make the journey and I'm afraid written statements simply don't carry the same weight. What's worse, Love's determined to introduce your brother's history, it would be considered relevant. Add to that the witness, the gun and Love's testimony as to the victims final words and the case is…"

"Lost before it's begun."

"Something like that."

"What if…" Scott shifted in his seat. "What if Johnny was to plead guilty, would that be a good or a bad thing?"

Randolph was quiet for a moment and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "You know your brother better than I, but I can't think of any reason he'd do that. He most likely would not be hung, but correct me if I'm wrong, given the choice of life in prison or death, which do you think he'd chose?"

Damn, what had he done? Had he convinced Johnny that staying alive would bring the family peace? And since when was Johnny so easily convinced? No, this was not a good thing.

"I thought so." Mr. Randolph nodded. "At least with a trial there is always a chance, albeit a small one, but a chance nevertheless."

"Would he still be moved?"

"Highly unlikely, there would be no sense, Judge Sloane could pass sentence here then he would be remanded to a territorial marshal and if Sloane is feeling generous, he'd serve out his time at San Quentin."

And if he wasn't? Feeling generous that is."

"Wyoming or Montana, most likely. There's talk of a new prison in Yuma, but so far, it has been mired down due to lack of funding. It's not much, but at least he'd be alive."

Scott flinched, he wasn't sure if Johnny would look at that as a fate worse than death.

JML

There wasn't a clear memory of his exit from the attorney's office, only the sudden need for air and the relief when he leaned his elbows on a hitching rail swallowing in gulps of it.

"Scott," Murdoch called from across the street.

He pushed off the rail, and met his father in front of the mercantile.

"It's good to see you out. How are your feet?"

"Better, much better." He looked at the already less than shiny brown leather. "Willie brought them to me this morning. They're a little larger than I usually wear, but I am almost as good as new."

"Ah yes, and where is the bride-to-be?" Murdoch asked scanning the boardwalk.

"She's gathering her things. I'm taking her home today. There are a few details she needs to attend to before the wedding."

"Yes, I'm sure there are." Their eyes met and then Murdoch looked toward the jail.

"And Johnny? How is he this morning?"

"I'm not sure. But he hasn't changed his mind, if that's what you mean."

Murdoch sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that, I was headed there after the bank."

"I wouldn't. Johnny is sure Val will be bringing Remy in this morning, so I'd wait. He wants to speak with the boy alone."

"You mean Val finally found him? Where do you suppose he's been hiding these last few days?"

"I'm not sure, but Val took off last night and I get the impression from Johnny he came in some time during the night. That's all I know."

"I don't understand either of those children, Scott. The boy disappears, and the girl, she just sits there all day." He nodded his head toward the bench in front of Alma's shop. "And at night, from what I hear, I don't think there is a man in town she hasn't asked to…" He cleared his throat and cast a quick glance to the ground. "Well, you know what I mean."

Scott nodded not that Murdoch noticed, since they were both looking at Reba again. Chestnut and flaxen strands of horsehair lay stretched across her lap and she was working them into a tight braid. He lost himself to the repetitive motion of her hands, weaving the light and dark strands back and forth, when he managed to pull his eyes away she was staring at him. Feeling the heat of a blush cross his cheek, he quickly turned to face Murdoch. "I've heard the same from Val. Did you know he spoke with her again?"

"He did?" Murdoch asked. His eyes were back on the jail.

"He asked about the gun, why it was halfway across the room. She told him she had it in her hand; that she was ready to make sure Johnny paid for what he did. Tom ran out from the kitchen and sent it flying. His story matched hers, so I guess that's true."

"Tom's a good man. Too bad he didn't see a struggle over the gun; that would help Johnny's case."

"Murdoch, you know as well as I do, Johnny was in no condition to struggle when we found him."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Murdoch nodded and pulled a paper from the inside pocket of his vest. "You realize Judge Sloane is set to arrive the day after tomorrow and I just received a reply from Governor Booth's aide." He opened the missive he held in his hand and read it, undoubtedly not for the first time. He creased the page and looked up. "Unfortunately Nathan is traveling and will respond upon his return."

Scott heard the hollow sound of disappointment in his father's voice. "Not the news you were hoping for, Sir."

"No, no it isn't," Murdoch said, moving in the direction of the bank. "Though, if Johnny continues with this foolish plan, I'm not sure there is anything anyone can do."

"Even if he goes to trial, Murdoch, it's not looking good. Whatever hope Mr. Randolph had was dashed by Love's latest maneuver. The trial has been moved to San Jose."

"Damn, why is Love so determined? Grayson was a vile man, and if you were to ask me what he got was too good for him."

"I know, Murdoch, but unless people witnessed what Grayson did first hand, the way he controlled people…"

"Yes, yes, he survived because people liked him, and from what I hear many in town did, especially those who won money." A look crossed over Murdoch's face, lifting his countenance. "Do you think that's it? Do you think Love has won money off of him?"

"I would believe anything at this point." Scott sighed.

"Scott? Is there something else wrong? You seem distracted."

"Do you think it could be my fault? That because of me Johnny is pleading guilty?"

"You're fault? I don't see how any of this could be your fault. But something is seriously wrong otherwise Johnny would be fighting this with everything he's got. Instead he lies around like he hasn't a care in the world. His behavior does have me concerned. I wish Sam was here."

Scott felt the bile rise up and he swallowed hard. He knew he needed to tell, in fact Willie had suggested it several times, even offered to do it herself, but there was never a right time, never the perfect opportunity.

"Scott, what's going on? Do you know something?"

His mouth went dry and he tried to hold his father's gaze but couldn't. "I thought… I mean it made sense… But what we don't understand is why, even though we are giving him less and less, by the middle of the day he's out of it most times."

"Scott, what are you saying? Please tell me you're not. You're not giving Johnny Laudanum."

"I'm afraid so. I mean…"

If it were possible for a man to grow before your very eyes, then surely Scott had just witnessed such a feat. Murdoch loomed over him, the vein in his neck pulsating. "How could you?" For a moment he looked startled by the fury in his voice then he lowered it. "After what we went through with him the other night? He almost died and yet you continue to give it to him? Why?"

"You know him, what we saw the other night was nothing, if he had to go through that in front of the entire town, it would kill him."

"Damn his pride! We're talking about his life here!"

"But,"

"But nothing, he needs to fight this not cave into it."

"Murdoch, he did it. He told me he did it. He killed Grayson and… I don't know, I don't think it accomplished what he hoped; it's as if killing him did no good. I think Johnny expected that once Grayson was dead he'd feel… free, free from everything Grayson came to represent."

"And how would that be possible if he is still taking the laudanum? That is the one card Grayson still holds."

The air rushed from Scott's lungs. Had they been doing what Grayson wanted all along? Still doing what was expected? Damn, how was that possible? How could Grayson still call the turn from his grave?

"I suppose this could explain his attitude. It is hard to care about what happens to you when can't feel. Damn it, Scott, we need him fighting for his life. This is the worst possible thing you could have done. And Val, he actually condones this? He's helping you?"

"No, he has no idea."

"Then who?" Red-faced, Murdoch stared at him, waiting for an answer, an answer Scott had no intention of giving. "No matter, we need to find Val and tell him." He moved to the edge of the boardwalk. "I'm not sure I'll ever understand why you thought this was a good idea but it needs to stop, here and now, it needs to stop."

Scott stepped behind him. "I thought, once he was free, we could fight it. I never expected him to surrender like this. And I couldn't believe he'd actually done it."

"Whether he killed Grayson or not does not matter to me, I have no intention of surrendering and I better not hear that you are. We are going to fight this and fight it with everything we have until… Val!" Murdoch waved an arm in the air and Val looked up as he walked out of the hotel, with four long strides he was across the street. "Val, we need to talk. Now. Your office."

"Not there." He looked from Murdoch to Scott with a questioning stare. "I promised Johnny a couple of hours alone with the kid."

"You did find him."

"Yeah, he's…"

"Do you think that's wise leaving them alone together, I mean what if that boy decides to take the law into his own hands. If he…"

"Relax. The kid is locked up. I arrested him for Stu's murder. Don't have enough, to hold him long, but Johnny, he wanted to give those two a little push, see where it led."

Scott watched Murdoch exhale and the high color of his face softened. "You're saying that Johnny asked you to arrest him?"

"Yup, between us, I think he wants to see what the girl will do." All three looked across the street; she was still sitting on the bench, busy at work. "There's something about that girl that don't sit right with me. It's those eyes a hers, there's nothing there, nothing."

"Val, Scott has something to tell you and I'm not sure the street is the right place." The softness of Murdoch's voice hurt more than his earlier harsh tone.

Val stood tall and studied both of their faces. "All right," he said looking around. "Come with me." He led them a few doors down to the undertaker's.

Clark, a pale faced man with no more than eight hairs combed across the top of head, was unpacking a wooden crate. He carefully placed two glass bottles on the shelf and closed the crate before speaking. "Gentlemen?" he asked, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping it across his brow. "How may I be of…?"

"Out," said Val before he had a chance to finish. He pulled a few coins from his pocket and tossed them at Clark. "Go get yourself a haircut. We need your office for a spell."

"But, I don't understand."

"Don't need you to understand, just vamoose, come back in…" He looked at Murdoch. "Thirty minutes?" Murdoch nodded. Come back in thirty minutes." And Val pushed him out the door, closing it, locking it, and pulling down the shade blocking Clark's astonished look as he peered back through the glass. "You boys look serious," Val said, spinning on his heels. "What the hell's going on?"

"Scott." Murdoch prodded. "Tell him."

"Look, if you're gonna tell me anything Johnny said; don't."

"No, Val, that's not it. You see… I mean…"

"He's been giving Johnny laudanum, Val. Can you believe it? No wonder he's given up." Murdoch's voice cracked and Scott could have sworn he heard Grayson's laugh. He walked to the back of the room and pulled back the curtain to the work area, half expecting to see Grayson laid out on the table. He was still here, somewhere, because no one could agree on where to put him. Of course Scott had his own idea. He dropped the curtain and watched as it fell back across the door, then he turned. Val was seated on the crate, his hat in his hands. He had to understand, he had to know how Johnny would feel about this, but he was being quiet. He wasn't yelling or shaking his head, instead he sat there looking from Murdoch to Scott.

"Val? Did you hear what I said?"

"I heard ya and it sure does explain a few things." His voice was calm and Scott waited for the outburst, instead he snickered and shook his head. "He sure played us. I've been keepin' him this side of comfortable myself."

"Val?"

"All I can say is it's a damn good thing I stopped Sophie the other night or… Damn it, Scott what were you thinking?"

"I guessing the same thing as you, but the question remains, what do we do now?"

"What do you mean, what do we do? We stop." Murdoch's anger had returned and the bottles on the shelf rattled with his words. "It's the only answer."

"Murdoch, I'm not sure that's best," said Val.

"I'll decide what's best, he's my son. I wasn't there for him when Grayson did this to him the first time, but I'll damn sure be here to protect him now. He's in no condition to be making these decisions. You both have to realize that."

"He's more aware than you're giving him credit for. Hell, he figured out where I'd find Remy and he's pushing to see you get hitched, Scott. He's fighting harder than you realize, trying to set things right, but… what he don't get is nothin' will be right if he ain't here."

"If you both stopped, and he didn't get another drop, what would happen?"

Scott and Val looked at each other.

TBC


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

"I don't belong here!" The kid's face was blood red and the vein running down the side of his neck was bulging. "You think you can just throw anyone in jail. I did nothing wrong! You can't do this."

"Shut up." Damn, he was loud. Wouldn't do a bit of good either, Val was long out of earshot and Love, he was halfway to Spanish Wells by the time Val dragged the kid in. "You're wasting your breath."

Remy pushed off the bars and dropped his hands to his hips. "It's my breath."

The kid's look was far from the hard-ass one he was going for, forcing Johnny to dip his head, hiding the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. There was no way he wanted to give the kid another thing to go on about. He'd gone on long enough. "All I'm saying is, no one cares." Johnny leaned back against the wall and waited, waited for the silence. It had been his experience that most people didn't know how to wait, didn't know the benefit of taking things slow. He did. 'Draw breath, hold, fire'; it was deliberate, slow, calculated. Never reckless, never reckless. Well, almost never. He closed his eyes, focusing on the beat of his racing heart. The scent of vanilla came from nowhere and he could see her, Reba, standing there, her shirt open, her hand reaching out… He sucked in a long, slow, breath; lost to her touch.

A loud creak pulled him back. Remy had dropped onto his cot, but he wasn't staying put. The bed shook when he rolled to his feet and started kicking. He kicked at whatever there was to kick at, the bars, not the smartest move, the bed, and the empty shit bucket. The bucket brought enough of a noise to make it worthwhile, so he kicked it again and again and again. He seemed to like it best when it rang out against the bars.

Johnny sat up, on the edge of his bed, his muscles tensed with each clang of the bucket. He'd asked to see the kid but now Remy was here he wasn't all that sure it was a good idea. Where the hell did he get the idea Remy would listen? But he had to try, he had to do what he could before… He swallowed hard and ran his hand across the back of his neck. There was no doubt; Scott and Willie were giving him less. He was holding on but the warmth was just out of reach. It wouldn't be long before Val figured it out and then where would he be? Shit. One way or another, he needed out of this town, away from these people. Then he could do it. But not here, not with the eyes of everyone he knew and cared about watching. The look of pity alone would slice into him like a knife. As if going without wouldn't be bad enough. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe he was selfish, but if that's what you called it then he damn sure had a right to be.

No. Selfish would be swinging from the end of a rope, it would be over and the call of this fucking shit would be done for. Dying didn't scare him, he'd made his peace more than once, what scared him was how fast this shit reached in and grabbed hold, like it never let go in the first place, waiting all these years for a crack and then… Dios, it had been years since he woke with the need, long before he found family, but all it took was a few swallows. Was that what his days would be like from now on? How the hell was he supposed to get up every morning? There were at least five places at the ranch he could put his hands on a bottle and thousands of places he could hide one. Every store between here and Boston sold it and every snake oil salesman from here to the Mississippi had a case full of it.

Would his family understand what he'd done? They'd know where he was, could even visit if they had a mind to and he wouldn't be able to get his hands on… Shit, those were his choices, a rope or a cell? He sucked in a moan. Locked away, with no chance of this happening again and his family would know he's alive; the way he saw it, it was a win, win. Then why did he feel like he was gonna puke?

"You gonna be sick or something?" Remy asked. "There's a bucket in your cell too."

He looked up, surprised to see the kid staring at him through the bars. Shit he really needed to pay attention. "Me?"

"Ya you. Is there someone else here I'm missing?"

Johnny laughed out his nose and shook his head. "You got pluck, kid. Don't know where Grayson got off talking shit about you."

"Ya well, near as I can figure, I wasn't you." His eyes darted away and he sank down onto his cot.

"Sorry about that."

"Ain't your fault. Hell, even after…" His eyes turned back and his voice gained strength. "When he hated you, I still didn't measure up." Remy's eyes burned into Johnny. "Damn, I hated you."

"Grayson was good at breeding hate, Kid."

"I ain't no kid."

"No, I suppose you ain't." An icy ball formed in the pit of his stomach and he curled into it, willing it away. Damn, why today? He should have asked Val to give him something, but what Willie gave him usually lasted longer. Doubt crowded him, would talking to Remy do a damn bit of good? He did know sitting in a jail cell for the rest of his life would be a hell of a lot easier without too many regrets. So the cleaner he left things the easier it would be. Figured most wouldn't understand that line of thinking. He drew a deep breath and started in. "Advice ain't something I hand out often, but…"

"Then don't start now. You don't know me."

"Now that's where you're wrong, I know a damn sight more than you realize, and the smart thing for you to do is to run and I mean fast. It don't happen often, but sometimes family is bad news, and your sister is about the worst news I've come across."

Remy jumped up from his cot and gave the bucket a hard kick. It bounced off the bars with a clang and ricocheted back at him; he spun away but got twisted up in his own two feet and toppled to the floor. He slammed his fist down on top of what served as a mattress.

Johnny couldn't hold back the laugh. "You always that clumsy?"

He didn't say anything for a beat or two, kept his head down and damn if maybe he wasn't crying. "I always do things too fast."

"Seeing that, I got to agree." Johnny breathed out a sigh of relief when he felt a wave of warmth. "You weren't putting on a show for Scott when you met him? You really do mess up that bad?"

"Yeah," Remy said with a sniff, his head still resting on the bare mattress. "Pa always said I'd be a damn sight better if I'd only draw breath first."

"Sounds like him." Johnny leaned forward and covered his ears. He could hear the bastard's voice. 'Draw breath. Hold. Fire.' He'd lost count of how many times he'd heard it, lost count of how many times he felt the nick of his blade if he didn't succeed. 'Focus on the breath, never the gun.' Drawing it had to be more natural than sucking in air. 'You hold that breath or it'll cost you, breathe and you'll throw off your aim.' He was right. But that wasn't his best advice. No, his best advice… Shit, he did it again. Johnny lifted his head only to meet Remy's eyes. He hadn't moved from the floor, his arms were crossed over the mattress and his chin rested on top and he was watching. "I ain't trying to put ideas in your head, Remy. You have to see it. Reba is trouble, she killed Stu. You know that, right?"

"Is that supposed to mean something coming from you? How many men have you killed?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Besides, Stu was an ass and Reba's my sister. It's like that poem, we need each other."

Shit, the kid was right, he wasn't the best one to be talking, but there was a difference. He'd never scraped bottom, he'd come close but as bad as he got, he never sank so low that he'd sell out a friend. And he sure as hell would never turn on his brother. Reba would. And it went beyond a feeling in his gut. The Reba he met had nothing left and it showed in her eyes, those dead, swamp eyes. "Oh, she needs you alright. She'll bring you down faster than a spirited bronc, and if my hunch is right, she's already bucking."

"I guess I ain't speaking clear or you ain't listening. She's my sister." Remy dropped his head onto his forearms and said nothing more.

Johnny took his silence as a signal to push on. "Mind telling me why you were dressed in that bright shirt and those conchos? People round here notice shit like that, it's what you'd call, my style."

"Reba made them and said I should wear 'em is all," Remy looked up. "She didn't mean nothing by it, thought it would be funny if I dressed like you."

"Is that what she told you? Cause, the way I see it, you've got a problem." Johnny leaned both arms on his good leg. "Did you know your sister was dressed the same way?" A look of surprise skittered across Remy's face. "I didn't think so." Johnny pushed to his feet and hobbled toward the bars that separated them. "That's what she was wearing when she…" He swallowed hard, fighting his wandering mind. "I saw Reba, I'm the only one, but my word that night ain't worth much. Course two other men saw her, but they're both dead. You on the other hand, half the town saw you, including Val and Love. And when Scott described the shooter you'll never guess what he was wearing."

Remy's eyes grew wide.

"You understand what I'm saying, Kid?"

"What you're saying don't mean nothing, so what if we wore the same clothes." Those may have been Remy's words but Johnny was pretty damn sure he'd started some dust stirring. "She's my sister, we been through a lot together and… She's just trying to confuse people."

"Is that what you think?"

"That's what I know. Keep folks off balance, that's always the plan. The way Pa had it figured, Stu wasn't worth the letters in his name. Reba was supposed to kill him and my job was to settle up with the miner, the one who sent the doc on a goose chase." Johnny knew he gave away a look of surprise by the tilt of Remy's head. "Pa said he'd been saved once and he didn't want it to happen again. Said he was tired and wanted you to… you know…" He shrugged. "Kill him. He said you owed him after all he did for you."

Johnny's laugh came out in a hard burst. "He thought everyone owed him."

"According to Pa, there was glory in dying at the hands of John Madrid."

"There's no glory in dying." Johnny leaned into the bars and rested his aching head. "Not by my hand or anyone else's."

"Pa thought so, he wanted it. Said by the time this was over you'd want it too, but that you needed to stick around a while, spend a little time living in hell. Not sure I knew what he meant by that, but what I thought never mattered. Reba? She had a different plan. She wanted to watch you die, said it was her wish and she'd be calling things once Pa was dead, but your friend Tom but a stop to that."

"How about you? Did the right man die in your book?"

The kid looked surprised. "You're asking me? Sure, I'm glad he's gone." Remy dragged himself up off the floor and plopped belly-down onto his cot. He flipped over and stared at the ceiling. "Thought different, for a while, after Ma died; think I would a killed ya with my bare hands if I'd got the chance."

"But not today?"

"No, not so much. It's hard to explain, but you aren't what I expected. You're nothing like him and nothing like Reba, at least not like she is now. Maybe like she was before Ma died, but not now."

"She's different?"

"We're all different. That day changed our lives."

"I suppose it would." Johnny squeezed the bars tighter, his hands were starting to shake and his palms were damp. Damn, why so little today? Where the hell was Val?

"You know, a whole bunch of things could a changed what happened that day, maybe if it hadn't a been Sunday or if we was church going folk or if Pa didn't push so hard trying to make me into you. Maybe if you didn't run off like you did or maybe if you'd killed that man like you said you did. That's a lot a maybes but just one could a stopped it. Just one." Remy sat up and pulled his knees in close resting his head on them. "It was Sunday morning, all the townsfolk were at church, Ma and Reba were making pies for the evening social and Pa, being the most mulish man I ever met, brought me to the edge of town, again, for shootin' practice."

Johnny nodded his head, mulish, that was one word to describe Grayson.

"I was getting better, but not fast enough to suit him. It don't come natural, I have to think too much, not the smartest move when you're waving a gun."

Johnny wiped his palms on his pants and moved to sit down. "No Remy, once you pull it you better be ready to use it."

"Anyway, after that day, I may have let go of my hate but Pa never did and like you said he's good at breeding hate. He put all the blame on you, over and over and over again. The pride was gone and he'd almost spit every time he said your name."

Johnny felt his muscles tense and a chill leak from his bones. He'd witnessed Grayson's hatred more than once and it was dark and to a kid, scary. Hell, to an adult that look could freeze you in your tracks. But that was only at first. Once he had a chance to chew on it a while, his hate changed, deepened and a plan would start to form. And Grayson, was three things, smart, patient and about as nasty as a man could get. "I'm sorry, kid. I never meant for…"

"He went a little crazy after losing Ma. Think that's what messed up Reba the most. She was hurt, real bad, and he took good care a her, but sometimes I think he forgot who she was. Reba looks at lot like Ma and sometimes… He started lying with her when she was sick and…" Remy shrugged. "Reba seemed okay with it."

"You had to know that was wrong, Remy."

"And what was I supposed to do? I wasn't you."

"Remy, listen to me. I want you to leave. I know you think you belong here with your sister, helping her, but you don't. You need to be on your own, make your own way. Please, I need to know one person walks away from this mess and it won't be your sister."

"I can't, she needs me."

"But you don't need her and you know that. Isn't that why you go off by yourself all the time, I mean hell, it took Val days to find you. Only thing is this time you need to go farther not just the next town. You need to start over. You have skills. You can cook and I'm sure there are things Grayson did teach you."

"You mean other than how to cheat at cards?"

"Well, that can get you somewhere, but if you can't handle a gun it would most likely get you dead."

"Yeah, you're right about that," Remy said then fell quiet for a minute. "Reba is good with a gun, the best I ever seen."

"That may be true, but… Remy, you have to believe me, there is nothing you can do that will bring Reba back. She's too far gone, I know the look. Hell, I was close to it myself. She's empty inside. Tell me you don't believe that. Tell me you look into those eyes and see your sister. Tell me you aren't afraid of her."

"Afraid? Why would I be afraid? She loves me."

"Does she Remy? And how does she show it? Has she made you, her brother, the same offer she's made every other man in this town?"

TBC


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

Scott reached over and gave Willie's hand a squeeze. She felt her shoulders relax and looked at him. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead, the crease of his brow evident. He spoke without turning his head. "I'm sorry our wedding won't be as you've imagined."

She pulled her hand out from under his and with her fingertip she traced the long lines of each of his fingers. "To be honest, I never dared imagine. Becoming your wife and the mother to your children, well…" She swallowed back the happiness that swelled her heart, feeling a twinge of guilt for allowing it to exist. "How is it I feel so joyful and miserable at the same time?"

Eyes still fixed in the road, he offered a weak smile. "Let's just look at tomorrow. It will be a good day, perhaps our last for a while. Besides, if Johnny thinks, for one second, that we're feeling sorry for him you can be sure there will be hell to pay. He wants this day to be special." Scott pulled the horse to a stop and turned to her with a smile. "We can do that, right?"

"We can." Willie's finger trailed his jaw line and she placed a small kiss on his lips. "Besides, a clear head tomorrow won't have any effect on the days that follow. They'll play themselves out no matter what we do."

"That they will," Scott said with a snap of the reins.

Willie was grateful for the cushioned seat of the buggy, it didn't jostle her stomach as much as the buckboard had and it was narrower as well, allowing her to rest her head against Scott's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and she felt the warming tug of sleep. She didn't wake until the buggy slowed upon entering town. Scott kissed the top of her head as she began to stir and she smiled.

"If you don't mind, I'll carry your things in then check for Sam. It's been a week and there has been no talk of an explosion. I'm certain that it was a ruse, though I'm not exactly sure why. I would imagine he'd be back by now. The horse came to a stop; Scott set the brake and hopped down. He held out his hand for Willie.

"What's he doing here?' Willie asked as she looked past Scott and felt her stomach tighten at the sight of Love walking out of her Café.

Scott finished helping her down and turned to face Love. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Val sent me to look for the boy. He is wanted on suspicion of murder."

"And?" Scott asked.

"He's been here alright." Love tipped his head. "Sorry Ma'am but your place is a mess. He made himself right at home."

"Oh, dear." Willie closed her eyes, imagining the mess that awaited her then felt Scott's arm wrap her shoulders.

"Thank you, Love," Scott said. "We'll take care of things from here. Perhaps you should look elsewhere."

"Yes, I suppose you are right." He stepped off the boardwalk and looked at Willie. "Congratulations on your pending nuptials." He turned to Scott. "I hope you two will be very happy."

"You can keep those sentiments to yourself. Perhaps, if you weren't so anxious to see my brother hang…"

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. Lancer, you misjudge me."

"Do I? You've given me no reason to think differently of you."

"Be that as it may," Love said as he eyed Willie. "I sleep well knowing my wife loves me."

Scott rubbed his hand over Willie's back. "Well, I won't say anything disparaging about her, but you; you are a poor excuse for a man."

"Pity you feel that way and after I've made such a magnanimous decision."

"And just what would that be?" Willie could feel the tension building in Scott and she placed a hand on his chest.

"I've decided to allow your brother to attend your ceremony, shackle free." The last two words were offered with a smug smile and Willie watched Scott's jaw twitch.

"Why would you do that? Hoping he'll escape so you can shoot him? He won't you know."

"I believe you are right, he will stand and face the consequences of his actions." Love sucked in an exaggerated breath while twirling the end of his goatee. "I submit, I may have misjudged your family's character, Mr. Lancer, however, that does not make your brother any less guilty. I follow the letter of the law; money and power buy no favors from me."

"Then what exactly bought us this little favor of yours? You aren't letting him attend our wedding out of the goodness of your heart."

"Your brother has a good many supporters in Green River as well as in this town, which is precisely why I was forced to move his trial." He waved a hand in the air. "Justice being blind, and all that."

"I'm not getting the connection."

"My, you are an impatient lot." Love's shoulders slumped slightly. "Do you think we could continue this conversation inside?" he said, his gaze shifting from Scott to Willie. "You really do have a mess on your hands and I'd be more than happy to offer my assistance. Believe me you're going to need it."

"I don't see why not," Willie said, relieved to get out of the midday sun. She caught Scott's look of disbelief. "It is for purely selfish reasons, mind you. I have a lot to do today and am all too familiar with the kind of mess that boy can leave behind."

Love led the way, he opened the door then stepped aside allowing Scott and Willie to enter.

"It's not as bad as I expected," Scott said with a shrug. "Looks like you won't be needed after all."

"Wait until you see the kitchen."

Willie watched Scott stiffen. He turned, took one step forward, and stood nose to nose with Love. "We are not and never will be friends, so stop acting as if we were."

"Please," Willie jammed an arm between them. "It doesn't need to be perfect, but a little help now," Willie waved away a fly, "will save me a great many headaches later."

Scott sighed out then nodded. He walked to the far side of the dining room and picked up a few of the plates from a nearby table. Love did the same from the opposite end of the room. Willie watched in disbelief. She shook her head and walked into the kitchen. Pans were strewn about. Her foot crushed an egg shell into the floor and she almost lost her balance as she slid on some sugar that was underfoot. Flour, mixed with coffee grounds, dusted nearly every surface, and the scent of vanilla and cinnamon filled the air. All in all, it wasn't as bad as she expected.

She'd need hot water to do the dishes and was pleased to see there were still some embers glowing in the stove. She crouched to pull open the ash box, and sighed at its near overflowing contents. She was hot and tired and feeling, thankfully, only the slightest bit queasy but the prospect of stooping to sift ash did not appeal.

"I'll get that, while you ready the kettle."

The unexpected voice startled her and she toppled the short distance to the floor. Love moved closer, offering his hand to help her up. "It is a chore my wife despises, especially in her current condition."

"And what condition would that be, Mr. Love?"

His face softened and there was a hint of a smile. "Our third child is due next month." He passed over his stack of plates. "Besides I have no idea where to put these." Willie sighed as she looked about the room, presented with the same problem.

She pushed things out of the way to make room. "How can one boy manage to use every single item in my kitchen?" Looking up she saw Scott standing in the doorway. He was glaring at Love's back. "I'll take those," she said and put the plates on top of the others. When she looked up again Scott was standing directly behind Love, peering down on him.

"Why have you decided to step down of that pedestal you've built for yourself and act like a human being?" Scott asked.

Love continued clearing the ash. "To be honest, the Reverend Winslow's wife has had some influence over me. She is a woman to be admired, much like my own wife."

"Is that so?"

"It is." Love stood and wiped his hands on a nearby towel, leaving it blackened. "They share a clear sense of right and wrong, much like your own bride." He nodded toward Willie and she felt a flush of irritation. "As a direct result of my conversation with Mrs. Winslow, my earlier assumptions regarding your family, and most importantly your brother, may have been imprecise." He raised his hand to stop Scott's next words. "This does not mean I consider him innocent. In fact, according to my investigation, your brother has done a myriad of foul deeds over the years and there is history between him and the deceased. I am not wrong about what happened that night. Nevertheless, I see no reason to punish your entire family."

"How very thoughtful of you." Scott crossed his arms.

"Yes, well, Mrs. Winslow believes she is indebted to your brother. She droned on and on about an accident that caused her daughter to became terrified of horses and…"

Willie nodded. "Poor Grace, she was very nearly trampled and her friend, Martha was killed. After the incident, she would grow hysterical if a horse came within ten yards. You can imagine that would not bode well in a town such as this. If not for Johnny, I think they would have been forced to move, though Lord knows where that would have been. Horses are everywhere."

"I remember how pleased he was when he picked up that pinto at auction last year," Scott added. "He had the perfect temperament. It took Johnny a while, but eventually Grace was ready for a more spirited horse."

"No matter." Love waved his hand. "I happen to like Mrs. Winslow and her kindnesses, so I am pleased to grant her this one favor."

"You do realize that a great many people in these towns think highly of my brother. That must speak for his character."

"Of course it does but, by the same token, isolated acts of kindness do not tell the whole story. I'm sure you can attest, there are many men in this world that…"

"My brother is like no other man."

"To you maybe, but I've run across men who have been generous and kind one moment only to turn around and perform atrocities the next. It all depends on where you stand, doesn't it?" Love stepped closer to Scott. "You sir, were a prisoner of war, were you not?"

"I was."

"Tell me, did you witness kindness between your captors. They cared for one another, valued each other's lives?"

"Yes… some did, but that didn't make all their actions human."

"Exactly my point, Mr. Lancer."

"You bastard." Scott's fist shot out sending Love crashing into the table behind him. For the briefest of seconds he teetered then lost his footing to the sugar and then the table, its contents and Love were on the floor.

"Do you feel better?" Love asked, sitting among the broken dishes and rubbing his jaw. "I know you've been itching to do that for some time. Perhaps now we can move on."

"Not until you do."

Love stumbled to his feet. "Perhaps that is best. I'll not press charges, you may find this difficult to believe but I do sympathize with your frustration."

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Love," Willie said as she brushed some crumbs from his lapel, but offered nothing for the splatter of gravy that decorated his left shoulder.

"No hard feelings, Mr. Lancer." He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his jacket. "And, I intend to hold my promise to Mrs. Winslow. You're brother will be in attendance tomorrow."

Scott nodded and Love left.

Willie could no longer hold back her laughter. "Well, that's one way to clean up." Willie snickered.

JML

Murdoch's face held the soft look of worry when he and Val walked through the door. Something was up, but Johnny had a few other things on his mind so that one would have to wait, if it could.

"You two get your business dealt with?" Val asked looking from Johnny to Remy.

"Think so," Johnny said. "But I'll need a piece of paper and a pencil. And…" He licked his lips. "I sure could use…" His father was staring at him, something was definitely up. Johnny got to his feet and limped closer to Val. "I'm thirsty, Val."

"You're a demanding cuss ain't ya?"

"Yeah well, I'd get it myself but…"

Val walked back to his desk, pulled paper from the drawer and dug around for a pencil. "Here," he huffed, jamming the items through the bars.

"Thanks." Johnny tried to hide how bad his hands were shaking, but by the look on Val's face he knew he did a piss poor job. "How about that drink?"

"Hold on a minute," Val said. He lowered his voice and added, "Can ya do that?" His eyes slid to Murdoch and Johnny knew it wouldn't be coming any time soon.

Closing his eyes, Johnny pressed his head against the bars. With a deep breath, he tried to gather his wits. It took a minute, but he found what he needed, nodded, and turned to face the boy. "Remy, I'm going to give you a bill of sale." He sank onto the cot and rested the paper on his thigh. Squeezing his hand into a fist a few times, he struggled to control the shakes. He couldn't and as much as he hated to ask, he had no choice. "Murdoch, I need you to do this," he said. "Write it out for that pinto I bought at auction last year."

"Are you sure Johnny? I thought…?"

"I'm sure."

Val unlocked the cell door and his father stood where he was with a look that made Johnny feel dirty.

"Please, Murdoch, I can't, no one at Lancer would believe it was my handwriting." He knew he should a held out the paper but he couldn't so he slid it across the cot then balled his hands into fists, turning his knuckles white in the hopes the tremors would stop.

Pity filled his father's eyes with his first step and he sat beside Johnny never looking away. But Johnny did, he couldn't take it and studied Remy instead.

"Tack too, Murdoch." A grunt was his only reply. "This pony," Johnny said to Remy, "he reminded me of one I had when I first started out. Fortunately, for you, he doesn't share his temperament." He smiled a little and added, "You're gonna want to change his name."

"Can't imagine why a boy wouldn't want to ride a gelding named Daisy, Johnny." Val snickered.

"Like I said, change the name to anything you like." Murdoch handed Johnny the bill of sale and he looked it over, making sure it said what needed saying. The last thing he wanted was more trouble for the kid. Shit, he'd had enough. Hell, they'd all had enough. "Thanks," Johnny said looking at Murdoch then he stood and made his way across the cell. "I want you to take this out to Lancer and the hands will take care of you. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I got it." Remy said.

"Good. Val, we're done. He needs to be on his way before Love gets back. And kid, watch out for him. There is a stretch of road you'll both travel over, so since you'll be on foot, keep to the brush. Think you can do that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"It's for your own good, ya know." Val said, unlocking the cell door.

"Still don't feel right, turning my back, but you're right, she ain't the same person I grew up with. Guess I was just too stupid to notice."

"You're not stupid, Kid," Johnny said. "We all see what we want to sometimes."

"Now git. And keep off the streets. Your sister likes keepin' an eye on things." Val led Remy to the back door then moved to look out the front. "She's still sitting there. How do you reckon she'll take it when she finds out he's gone for good?"

Johnny looked from Val to Murdoch and shook his head. "It might take a while. He disappears for days at a time."

"What do you hope to gain from this Johnny?" Murdoch placed a hand on his arm, moving him to sit down. "I have to say what you're doing isn't making a great deal of sense to me and frankly, I'm worried."

Murdoch towered above Johnny, his hands stuffed in his pockets and he waited. For a long while he waited. Or at least that's what it felt like because all Johnny could think of was how much he needed something. Not much, just a little bit, so he could move on and think about what Murdoch was asking him. He stole a few glances up at his father but got no higher up than the middle of his chest and had to look away. What was Murdoch asking him? He couldn't remember, he just needed a little, a swallow or two then he'd be okay, then he could answer the question. But, what was the question? For lack of a better answer, Johnny shrugged.

"Johnny," Murdoch breathed out as he sat beside him. "I know. Scott and Val told me what they've been doing." Johnny looked at his face and it reeked of pity.

Johnny glanced at Val and he wondered why he didn't see it sooner. There was pity in his face too. Shit. He couldn't look at either of them. He dropped his head and focused on hands.

"Son, it needs to stop." That was all he said. The cot creaked when he shifted his weight but Murdoch said nothing more.

Keeping his head down was not the best plan, Johnny's nose was starting to run. He ran a sleeve over his nose to catch the drips then looked at his father. What had it been, only a couple of hours, but he was feeling the effects and it must have shown because Murdoch could not hold his stare. His eyes slipped to Val.

"I'm at a loss," Murdoch said. "I don't know what to do. It's affecting your judgment."

"I'm not sure it's up to you." Johnny sniffed and gave Murdoch a sideways glance. "Maybe you have some sway over Scott but I'd like to think Val would stand beside me no matter what you say."

"Johnny." Murdoch looked at him in disbelief. "Would you place us at odds like that? Is getting more laudanum that important to you?"

"Look at me, Murdoch. Really look at me and tell me how important it is right now." Johnny held out his hands. "Look at me!" He couldn't control the shaking, his nose was running and his eyes were watering. He knew he looked a sight. "This is after only a few hours. Do you actually believe I'll think more clearly in ten or even twenty-four? Well, I won't. By then, all I'll be thinking about will be how to get more or where I can get more and I won't care who I hurt in the process. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want Scott thinking about at his wedding tomorrow? Because tomorrow by this time…" He shivered and pulled his arms back, wrapping them around himself. "I'll be ready to crawl out of my skin and that will only be the beginning."

TBC


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Being fussed over was something she was not used to and if Teresa tugged at her peplum or smoothed her skirt one more time she may have to scream. She wouldn't, of course. Instead she tightened her lips and smiled.

"What are you going to do with your hair? Shouldn't you have put it up by now?"

"I'm leaving it down," Willie said. "Scott likes it this way."

"Where is Alma?" Teresa asked, changing the subject. She looked out the small window and sighed. "She said she'd be early, said she'd bring the lace for your veil. With this coming on so quickly, there wasn't much time to…"

"Relax, Teresa. Who's getting married here?" Willie moved behind Teresa and followed her gaze. She wasn't looking toward the road. In fact, you couldn't see the road from this side of the church. She was watching Johnny, as he sat on a nearby bench. Sam was seated beside him and they were deep in conversation. Love was nearby leaning against a tree.

"I'm glad Sam made it back," Teresa said. "Do you think he's alright?"

"Sam? I spoke with him this morning, perhaps he's a little tired since he didn't return until…"

Teresa turned to face Willie. "I meant Johnny. Do you think Johnny's alright?" She leaned back, resting on the sill. "He's smiling and acting like he doesn't have a care in the world, but how can he not?"

"He wants this to be a good day, for all of us, and I suppose, given the current situation, we owe him that much." Willie continued to look over Teresa's shoulder and out the window.

"That's not going to be easy." Teresa pushed Willie's hair back behind her shoulders. "I still say you should put it up."

Willie's eyes met Teresa's. "I said no." She turned and walked to the door. "I'm going to talk to Johnny. This may be my only chance today."

"I'll come with you."

"No, why don't you wait out front for Alma."

"She better arrive soon, maybe she can convince you to do something different with your hair." Willie shook her head at Teresa's parting words. She waited a few minutes then left the room through the door that led directly outside. Willie walked down the three steps on the side of the church and across the small patch of grass, Reverend Winslow's only vanity, toward Johnny and Sam.

Johnny noticed her approach and smiled. Sam stood.

"How is he doing?"

"His leg is healing nicely." Sam shook his head then offered a poor attempt at a smile. "I've learned a lesson from this. The next time I order bed rest for a member of this family, I'm pressing charges."

"That's one way to keep them off their feet, but would it be fair to Val?" Willie asked.

"You have a point." Sam looked around. "Where is Val? I haven't seen him yet."

"That's cause he ain't here, yet," Johnny said with a knowing smile.

"What did you do?"

"Me? Why does it always have to be me?"

Sam looked at Willie with a genuine smile this time. "I'll let you answer that one." He pressed a hand to her arm and gave it a little squeeze. "I'll see you soon."

Willie took Sam's place beside Johnny. "You're looking handsome."

"Yup, almost as respectable as the rest of you."

She placed her hand over his to still it. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine." His eyes were glassy and a broad smile lit up his face. "Real fine."

"Yes, I can see that. Does Murdoch…"

"He knows. Consider it his wedding gift to you."

"I suppose I should thank him."

"I suppose the less it's talked about the better." He looked away, cheeks coloring. "This should have been at Lancer, Willie, you deserve…"

"This is perfect. If not for you, I wouldn't be getting married at all and this…" She lifted his hand and held it to her belly. "This baby would have grown up in a world of darkness. I owe you more gratitude than I'll ever be able to express."

Johnny pulled his hand away. "Darkness is the last thing that little runt is gonna know. Why once Murdoch finds out…" Johnny whistled. "He's going to be spoiled to the core."

"And what makes you so sure it's going to be a he?" Willie laughed.

"I'm just saying…"

"I know, figure of speech," Willie waved her hand in the air. "But you're right. Scott said the same thing. Murdoch will be a doting grandfather, possibly to a fault."

"He has a lot to make up for," Johnny said.

"Yes, in his eyes I imagine he does." They sat shoulder to shoulder for a few minutes without saying a word, the sound of Murdoch's rich laughter echoed in her daydream. And Willie smiled. "Where is Murdoch?"

"He's with Scott. I was with them but got that look to vamoose, think the old man wanted to give Scott a little talk. And believe me, any chance I get to be outside today, I'll grab hold of. I just hope he doesn't try to pass on the wrong kind of advice."

"And you, Johnny? What would be your advice be?"

"Not usually one to offer much, and since I did yesterday, I think I've used my nickel."

"Please." She bumped Johnny with her shoulder. "You know Scott better than anyone."

Johnny dipped his head then looked toward the church. "Never lie to him, Willie, and never hold back on the truth. One's as bad as the other. He understands more than you'd think."

"You're right. I've seen that this week and because of it I love Scott more than I ever thought possible." She leaned over and gave Johnny a kiss on the cheek. He nodded, but didn't look at her.

The sound of a fast approaching horse caught their attention. Willie stood and looked from the animal to Johnny. He was smiling. Before the horse came to a full stop Grace, Reverend Winslow's daughter, hopped down, grinning from ear to ear and trying to hide a cloud of purple behind her back.

"Miss Willie." Grace's hair was slipping out from the ribbon in her hair and wisps flew about her face. She pushed them back with the sweep of her hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on her forehead. "I brought you something." With a flourish she revealed the bouquet. "Mama said it would be a pity if you had no flowers to carry. They're only owl's clover, there's not much to pick from this time of year."

"They're lovely, Grace, thank you." Willie reached for the flowers.

"Wait, they aren't ready yet." Grace pulled the blue ribbon from her hair and wound it tightly around the stems, finishing it with bow. "There, now it's wedding proper."

"Grace! You are a sight child." Mrs. Winslow walked up to the three of them. "Run along and clean yourself up, the ceremony will be starting soon."

"Yes, Mama." Grace curtseyed, planted a quick kiss on Johnny's cheek and took off, leading her horse as she went.

Mrs. Winslow's eyes followed her daughter then turned to Johnny. "I pray for you every day. What you did for my Gracie, there are no words."

"I didn't do much Ma'am. She's a brave girl. But, it was your telling that story to Love that made him reconsider. So, I thank you."

"Yes," Willie said. "It was a wonderful gesture."

"I only wish I could do more." Mrs. Winslow smiled. "But, I do have a favor to ask of you, Willie, if you don't mind."

Willie set the flowers down on the bench next to Johnny and took Mrs. Winslow's hands in hers. "Name it. What can I do?"

"It's silly, a superstition really, though the reverend prefers I call it a tradition." She withdrew her hands from Willie's and reached into the pocket of her skirt. Opening her hand, she revealed a small broach. "Would you wear this?"

"It is exquisite." Willie's fingers drifted over the delicately carved cameo. "It looks old."

"It is. My Grandfather had it made as a wedding gift for my Grandmother. I like to think it brings good luck to a marriage, and Lord knows, in these trying times, we could all use a little good fortune. May I pin it on you?"

"Of course," Willie said, stepping closer and lifting her chin. "It would look lovely at the neck, don't you agree?" She fingered the pin once it was in place. "I'm touched, thank you, Mrs. Winslow. I think I'll go inside. I'd like to see this in the mirror." She turned to Johnny. "I'll see you soon, with Scott at your side."

"I'll be there." He grabbed the flowers and thrust them toward her. "Grace would be upset if you didn't have these."

Willie cradled the flowers in her arms and smiled as she walked away. This was how things were supposed to be.

Teresa and Alma were waiting for her inside. "We were almost ready to come get you. Alma brought the most beautiful lace I've ever seen. Show her." Teresa gave Alma a sharp elbow then moved to open the lid of the basket.

"This is beautiful, Alma." Willie lifted a corner and admired the intricate work. She felt a tear form and moved to quickly wipe it away. "I don't remember you showing me this."

"That's because it's new. It was only this morning that I remembered and then I couldn't open the crate. I had to get help and went to Val's office. Johnny teased him about helping me and told him to make sure to get an apple dumpling or two." Alma blushed. "He asked if he could escort me."

"Escort you? Here? It that why you were late?" Teresa asked as she tried to arrange the lace atop Willie's head.

Alma took the lace from Teresa and showed her the hair-comb stitched in the veil." That's why I was late." She handed it back. "Val was so sweet though, he mumbled about it not being safe for a woman to travel alone. Lord knows I do it every Sunday, but who am I to argue with the Sheriff?"

"And did he get his apple dumpling, Alma?" Willie asked.

"He has to wait like the rest of you. I brought them for after the ceremony."

"Yes," Teresa added. "There is quite an assortment of goodies arriving. There will be a feast worthy of the occasion."

A knock brought the conversation to an abrupt end. "The Reverend said he's ready. Are you?"

With tears threatening, Willie opened the door. "As ready as I'll ever be, Sam."

"Good, shall we?" He extended his arm and together they walked into the churchyard. Teresa and Alma followed.

Alma gave Willie a hug. "You are a very lucky lady." She kissed Willie's cheek and scuttled off toward the front of the church.

"Your flowers, I left them inside." Teresa said. "I'll run back and get them and meet you at the front door."

"I love her," Willie said as she watched Teresa depart. "Things have happened so fast." Her eyes traveled from Teresa to Sam. "But, I'm relieved you made it back in time. I'm sure Murdoch would have said yes, but it is you I wanted. Since David died, you have been my family."

"And now you are marrying into my favorite family."

"Yes, but that family is about to change in so many ways. Do you think it is strong enough?"

"I do."

"But how? How can they bear to watch what is happening with Johnny and still remain whole? And what about me? I'm not always the easiest person to live with."

Sam laughed. "Believe me when I say, not being easy to live with fits right in with that family. And as for Johnny, well I'd like to think there is room for some hope."

"Hope?" Willie laughed. "And just where are we supposed to find that?"

"You, Dear, don't have time for the whole story," Sam said placing his hand to Willie's back and moving her forward. "But, I did have a visitor yesterday."

"Who?"

"Mr. Love. He was leaving your establishment when he spotted me dragging myself home. To tell you the truth, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to the man, but he did get my attention with the week's events. The things you miss around here in a week."

"He's been talking to everybody. What on earth did he want with you?"

"Answers. Honest answers, as near as I can figure."

"And?"

"I told him everything I know."

"Everything?"

"Everything. And I think it made a difference. He said he'd let things cloud his judgment and he was ashamed."

"Ashamed?" That one word had indeed offered hope. Willie felt the crushing weight on her heart dissolve into a rush of tears. She tried to laugh as she wiped them away, but more kept coming and the laugh only sounded like a sob.

"Oh dear, I didn't intend on making you cry. But I did come prepared." Sam reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two handkerchiefs. He wiped away the tears with one and pressed the other into her hand. "Here, borrow this."

"Thank you, Sam." Willie laughed. "Thank you. That is exactly what I needed today. Hope."

"Let's go." Teresa chimed in as she pushed open the large double doors. "I have a brother waiting."

Willie smiled a big full-fledged smile that came from deep down inside as she watched Teresa walk down the aisle. She felt light as a feather and was grateful for Sam's firm grip on her elbow; it kept her from floating away. The faces of all the people she had come to know over the years, turned, waiting for her entrance. Some she considered friends others merely acquaintances, but regardless they were all here to share in her joy just as they had been here to share in her sorrow not much more than a year ago. But, tonight, when she lay her head on the pillow, the friends she held closest to her heart would be family, and that thought made her smile even wider. She nodded to Sam and they began the walk towards her dearest friend of all, Scott.

Reverend Winslow's mouth was moving. Scott was smiling. That was all Willie saw. It was a dream and she was somewhere above watching it unfold. Then the dream was broken and it all became delightfully real when he took hold of her arms and peered deep into her eyes with more love than she had ever seen before in her life, it almost caused her heart to stop. As if he knew she was ready to stop breathing, it was at that exact moment when he pulled her close and his lips touched hers with a kiss, reviving her. She never wanted him to let her go, but he did, and they were surrounded by all their friends and acquaintances tossing handfuls of rice and cheering. The tears started again, cascading down her cheeks, she wiped at them with the handkerchief and spied Sam, standing at the back of the church beaming like a proud papa.

Husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Scott Lancer walked into the day's gleaming sunshine. One by one the well wishers drifted away until all that was left was family, her family.

Tbc


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

"Mind taking me back in a bit, Love? Let these folks enjoy themselves."

"I'm not sure your family will be comfortable with that, some of them believe I might try to shoot you." Love nodded toward Scott as he spoke.

Johnny studied his brother. Love was the last thing on his mind. He chuckled, well that may not be entirely true, his love for Willie was all that his head was full of. "Don't you worry about him; he's got a few other things on his mind today." Johnny shook his head. "Besides, do you even carry a gun?"

"No," Love answered. "I've never felt the need."

"Well, ain't you lucky then."

Their eyes met, Love's carried a hint of surprise. "Yes, I suppose I am," he said with a nod.

~JML~JML~JML~

Johnny made his way back across the yard and with each step he could feel a twinge in his leg. It was a damn sight better than it had been for most of the week, which surprised him considering all the walking he'd done today. Hell, at the moment, even he was feeling pretty good. Unfortunately, the clock was winding down on that. He'd need to get back before too much longer, though it sure would a been nice to stay for the whole party.

A dream, he felt like he was walking through a dream, nodding to all the folks enjoying themselves. The smiles on their faces weren't meant for him to see. Each time someone looked in his direction the smile would drain from their eyes and slide from their lips. They didn't mean for it to, but it couldn't be helped. Maybe they felt guilty for having fun, maybe they got to thinking about the judge arriving on tomorrow's stage, or maybe they were waiting for his hands to shake and his nose to run. No doubt, there were as many reasons as there were people.

Scanning the crowd, his eyes settled on Reba. She moved from one cluster of people to the next with confidence, looking to be about the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. In a different dream, he could see himself getting lost in that thick mane of hair and drinking in the scent of her. He closed his eyes. The memory of her touch caused his breath to hitch, when he opened his eyes Murdoch was staring at him.

"You okay?" he asked, his hand pressed to Johnny's back.

"Leg hurts some, that's all." Johnny shifted his weight. "Planning on heading back soon."

"I still say I should go with you. You and Love, alone, how can that be wise?"

"We've been over this, Murdoch. Your place is here, with Scott. He's only gonna get married once you know." Johnny kept his eyes on Reba. She knew exactly when to flash that smile or offer her pout. The soft yellow of her dress brought to mind the beginning of a new day, and he hoped that it wasn't too late for her, hoped this was a girl who could start fresh.

"I have to say." Murdoch's voice tugged at his thoughts. "It is hard to believe she's the same girl that's been sitting in front of Alma's shop all week, looking quite lost."

"She is lost, Murdoch, she has no one left. All she has is what she's been taught."

"And what's that?"

"Watchin'. Watching till you know the players in the game."

"I take it Grayson taught you the same strategy."

Johnny pulled his eyes away from Reba and pushed a smile. "I've been known to spend some time sitting in a rocking chair, rockin'." He felt his leg begin to buckle and he moved to a nearby bench. Murdoch offered a hand of support and sat beside him.

"I guess that's what you've been doing today, haven't you? Was it your idea for Tom and Flo to bring her?"

"Yup. Only seen her the once, and since it's her finger doing the pointing, I couldn't convince Val into letting me see her. Sizing her up by that meeting alone just didn't sit right, can't say I was thinking all that clear."

"And you're thinking clear now? Even after…"

Johnny released a measured sigh. "Just 'cause you don't like how this is gonna turn out, doesn't mean I'm not thinking clear. I know what I've done and sure don't have a problem paying my bill. And just so we're on the same page, tomorrow I intend to plead guilty. How's that for clear?" He didn't expect an answer, hell he didn't want an answer. The conversation was over and he gave Murdoch a long hard stare to prove it. The pain in his father's eyes almost forced him to look away, but he held fast until Murdoch released a low growl and turned his head to look across the churchyard. For a long while nothing but quiet passed between them. Johnny watched Reba and he could feel Murdoch's eyes watching him. It was Murdoch who broke the silence.

"So, what do you make of her?"

Johnny looked at his father. "I can't tell. I can't tell if she's fallen too far."

"Does it matter?"

"I think so." Murdoch's brows went up, wrinkling his forehead, and Johnny knew that meant he wanted more of an answer. "She's alone now. I saw to that and I'm willing to bet it's the first time in her life."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"It's up to her now. She gets to decide what road to follow."

"Sounds to me like you've stood at that fork."

"When I met Col Baker, I was alone, completely alone for the very first time." Murdoch opened his mouth to speak but Johnny cut him off. "Sure I'd been by myself before but I'd always carried something with me." Johnny squinted when he looked at Murdoch. "Hate mostly," he said then scanned the churchyard looking for Reba. "But by the time I stood in Baker's parlor I was empty inside, alone and empty. It was at that moment I realized, if I took one more step, just one more, I'd fall into a dark pit and there would be no hope of climbing out."

"She's not you, Johnny," Murdoch said. "Why are you finding excuses for her? She's a killer."

Johnny eyebrows went up and he rubbed the palms of his hands together, rancher's hands. He took pride in the roughened skin and calluses, the sign of what he'd become. But, by the same token, he wasn't sure if he should feel slighted that Murdoch could forget, that he was a killer and always would be. It wasn't something you ever stopped being, it was what he was.

"I don't understand why you feel the need to save her. You didn't kill Grayson, she did."

"I thought you knew me better than that, Murdoch." Johnny stood. "Have you ever known me to confess to something I didn't do?"

Murdoch looked up at him shaking his head. "No, Johnny. You did not do this."

"Believe what you want." He looked at the faces milling about. "I need to say good bye to Scott."

~JML~JML~JML~

Johnny hugged Teresa, kissed Willie on the cheek and held on to his brother a little longer than seemed proper. From across the yard, Val grinned and nodded as he stuffed one of Alma's dumplings into his mouth. It was time to go, and Johnny turned to go, almost bumping into Murdoch.

"I belong with you."

"No, Murdoch, you belong, here, with Scott, it's his day. There are two tables full a food and you know you want some of Aggie's fried chicken." He gave a grand gesture with his arm and let it land on Murdoch's back. "Me," Johnny countered, "I'm not much up for eating."

Murdoch tipped is head in Love's direction. He was putting a few things in the back of the buckboard. "I'm not sure you'll be safe."

"Love ain't gonna shoot me, Murdoch. He may not like me much but shootin' just ain't his style. You said yourself, Ramón set a couple of his brothers on Remy's trail so if he doubles back, which I doubt, we'll know. That leaves Reba. So if you really want to do something, make sure she stays put."

"There are enough eyes here, I'm sure we can manage that, Johnny."

"Good, then we've got nothing to worry about and you can have a little fun." Murdoch still looked worried, so Johnny laughed. "Come by the jail after." Johnny gave him a soft cuff on the arm. "I'll wait up for ya."

"I'll walk you to the wagon."

Johnny ran a hand through his hair. He just wanted to get on his way, no drawn out goodbyes, but some battles weren't worth fighting; besides the way his leg was feeling a little extra support couldn't hurt.

Love hovered around the wagon, keeping a close eye on their approach. He moved in and grabbed hold of Johnny's arm maneuvering him to the other side of the buckboard without saying a word.

"If anything happens to him, Love, so help me, I'll…"

"I am a man of the law, Mr. Lancer," Love said as he helped Johnny up into the wagon. "You should be careful what you say. Words have a way of coming back to haunt us."

"Murdoch, we're good," Johnny said, looking back over his shoulder while extending his arms forward for the cuffs Love held. The squeaks and moans of a fiddle being tuned signaled the party was ready to get underway. "The music's about to start, you owe Willie at least one dance."

"I won't harm him, you have my word," Love said as he secured the cuffs with the key. He looked at Johnny. "I won't shackle your legs, but I'm afraid the handcuffs are protocol. You are a prisoner, after all." He walked to the other side of the buckboard, Murdoch stepped aside and Love climbed in.

A steady buzz of conversation filled the air pierced by the occasional burst of laughter. Johnny would've liked to have stayed but he was starting to feel a little rough and that would'a only made things worse. Love snapped the lines and the horse jerked forward. Johnny could feel Murdoch's eyes on him, but he didn't look back. The voices and laughter faded away until only the sound of the fiddle traveled with them.

Maybe, if Sam gave him a little, he could have stuck it out longer. Shit, even if Sam had any, it didn't mean that he would have obliged. Johnny snickered, seemed that old miner Remy paid off didn't exactly lie. The mine may not have exploded, in the way that came to mind, but the men sure did. Dysentery. Sam said, he even got to thinking maybe he misunderstood the old man. Explosion at the mine. Now that was funny.

What wasn't funny was Sam leaving behind what was left of his laudanum. Nothing did a better job at stopping up the works, so it did make sense. Besides, he could always get more in Green River. Should a been able to get more in Spanish Wells, but Mrs. Wilkes had the only shop in town, and she refused to sell it, said it was an instrument of the devil. Johnny didn't usually have much good to say about Mrs. Wilkes, but in this case she just might be right.

Traveling by buckboard, it'll take near an hour to make it back to Green River. On the back of a horse, any horse, he could a cut over and made it in less than half the time. One hour, and he'd slide his hand under that mattress and pull out the present Val left for him. With all that was going on, his friend figured it was the least he could do. Johnny had no argument with that, but Murdoch sure as hell would have. He could do it, he could hold himself together that long. It was only one hour.

Not a word had been shared between the two of them since leaving the churchyard. At first Love tapped his foot to the fiddle, even after the music faded into silence. Then he took to sneaking looks and clearing his throat, like he wanted to say something but was afraid. There was no way in hell Johnny would satisfy Love by letting on that he noticed or cared.

Love looked again, this time not turning away quite so quick. "You're not looking too good. Is your leg bothering you some?"

"Some." Johnny shifted in his seat and tried to cross his arms but the damn cuffs didn't even let him do that.

Heaving a sigh, Love pulled the buckboard to a stop. He fished in his pocket, pulled out the key and unlocked the cuffs, dropping them into the back of the buckboard.

Johnny rubbed at the marks they left behind. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Love said studying Johnny a bit. He opened his mouth a couple of times, the tip of his beard bobbing up and down, then, he snapped it closed and turned back to the road urging the horse forward.

Johnny took pleasure in crossing his arms and settling back with his leg propped up on the dash. The creak of the wagon and the soft thud of hooves worked to drown out the thoughts in his head, the occasional break in the beat gave him something to listen for. He must a nodded off because the next thing he knew he bolted upright, eyes wide open and fear grabbing at the bottom of his belly. He hoped Love didn't notice but there really wasn't much chance of that since they were the only two in the wagon. Love was staring at him and pulling the wagon to a stop, again. Johnny's fingers twitched and he was having trouble keeping his legs still, he just wanted back in that cell and what was waiting for him beneath the mattress. "Would you mind keeping this thing moving?"

"Why? Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?"

"You could say that." Johnny's heart was pounding in his chest as bits and pieces of his dream peaked through the muck in his brain. Love twirled the end of his beard, Johnny forced himself to focus on that, a habit Johnny figured Love didn't even know he had. Standing still added to the panic in his chest and messed with the clear order he had set out in his head. "Look, if you got something that needs saying, get it said."

Surprise widened Love's eyes before they turned back to the road. "I'll make no apologies for my actions," he said.

"Didn't know I was asking for one." Johnny didn't much care what Love had to say. There was only one thing he cared about right now, and it sure as hell wasn't in this wagon.

"There are some stories coming to light that… During my investigation, I…"

"What the hell are you trying to say, Love?"

"It appears I may have misjudged."

"Misjudged what?"

"You." He flicked the lines and the buckboard lurched forward.

Relieved to be moving again, Johnny laughed. "Don't feel too bad about that. More than a few have been known to misjudge me. You're ahead of the game; most don't figure it out until they're lying in a pool of their own blood."

"And you take pride in that?" Love stopped the wagon again. "You want people to think you are ruthless and unfeeling?"

"It plays to my advantage," Johnny said with a shrug.

"I'm not sure it does. I think the only person you're trying to convince is yourself."

"You don't know me," Johnny bit back the swell of anger.

"I believe I do." Love was quiet for a spell, his look begging to be punched from his face. Well, his look, and the fact that they weren't moving, again. "Unfortunately, I also believe you know me better than I'd like to admit."

"Is that so?" Johnny wiped his palms down the length of his thighs; this trip was taking too damn long. "I'm willing to listen," he said. "If you're willing to keep this wagon moving." He reached out to rub his injured leg. "It's my leg, I ain't…"

"Of course." Love snapped the lines. "How thoughtless of me, this is your first day to be out and about."

"Try… only day. The judge will be here tomorrow."

"Yes, about that, I do regret my hasty actions. In hindsight, moving your trial does seem extreme. It's just like me. I charge in, belief tucked neatly in my breast pocket, and demand to be proven wrong." He gave Johnny a quick look. "My wife calls me a bull in a china shop." Love's shoulders sagged a bit. "But then, you knew that. You knew that about me from the very first day."

"If I'm being honest, Mr. Love, I don't remember much about that day."

"No? Pity.

"But, I do remember calling you a fool."

"And a liar. Harsh words coming from a stranger, but… to my chagrin all too true."

There wasn't much Johnny could say to this. He had a knack for sizing up a man, but it was rare for one to agree.

"You saw things in me I thought were long buried. Things, I was convinced, had no bearing on the way I conducted myself. I was wrong. Of course, that day we met, when your brother was missing, you didn't help matters. You wanted me to fear you."

"Ya well, that's not all I wanted."

"What was that?"

"Nothin'"

"No matter…" Love leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees; the horse slowed its pace with the relaxed rein. "People don't appreciate it when I march into their town, demanding changes and often removing the sheriff they've come to know. If I'm to do that, I must appear, shall we say… confident." He put all his weight on his left knee and turned to look at Johnny.

"You were confident, Love, I'll give you that, a confident ass." Johnny shook his head. "Hell, you even had Val spit and polished."

"Yes, about Sheriff Crawford, his ways are a little unorthodox but he does not appear to be easily swayed."

"Val? Swayed?" Johnny laughed.

"He certainly takes pleasure in getting me out of the way though, like that wild goose chase he sent me on, looking for the boy."

"You know about that do ya?"

"I know the sheriff was fully aware the boy was gone, but he sent me anyway."

"Can you blame him? You ain't exactly been helpful."

"As you so eloquently pointed out, the other day, I have no idea how to walk the fence so I jump down onto one side or the other without thinking."

"Is that kind of like a bull in a china shop?" Johnny asked with a smile.

"Something like that." Love laughed and nodded. "I think you and my wife would get along."

Johnny dropped his head and studied his hands. "Yeah, we probably would."

"The sheriff's little diversion did afford me one thing though."

Head still down, Johnny turned to look at Love. "And just what might that be?"

"A chance to meet with your Dr. Jenkins and get his version of things before gossip could alter his perspective. He didn't even know about the murder." Love bit on his lower lip and looked to be considering his words. "I don't want to mislead you; I am convinced you killed Mr. Gray or Grayson or whatever name he went by."

"And just how can you be so sure?"

"Because you said you would." Love gave him a sideways glance. "And I believe you are a man of your word. I've discovered nothing that would alter that opinion of you. But the other opinion I formed was incorrect. If you recall, you'd just released your father from jail and ordered the sheriff into action. As a result, I accused you and your family of controlling the town and the law. It wouldn't have been the first time a powerful family held a sheriff and a town hostage."

Johnny shrugged, the name Nevill coming to mind.

"I assume you don't recall."

"Like I said, that afternoon is pretty much a blur. All I know is I was worried about my brother." He did have another clear memory and it was one that was taking hold right about now, his hunger for… shit…. He shifted in his seat, relieved to see the roof of the hotel. It wouldn't be long now.

"You accused me of being a bitter man trying to make up for the injustices of my childhood."

"I said that?"

"Yes, you did and those words resonated with me; I didn't want to believe my actions revealed so much to a man I'd only just met."

"Are you telling me I was right, Love?"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you."

More buildings were coming into view, another bend and he'd see the whole damn town. A few more minutes after that and he'd be back in his cell and then… He wiped his sweaty palm on his pants.

"Christianson, the name was Christianson."

Johnny turned to study Love's profile; he looked to have aged since they left the church and Johnny got the feeling he was about to hear a story few men had.

"That family owned our little town in New York lock, stock and barrel and if they didn't like you, well… pack up and move on because you'd be lucky to get a bag of sugar from the general store."

This wasn't news to Johnny; hell, he'd fought against families like that more times than he could count. Sometimes he got paid but there were many he didn't.

"Christianson had three boys, the youngest, Raymond..." He trailed off.

The streets of Green River were empty, shops were closed even the saloon was quiet. Everyone was at the wedding. Love stared straight ahead and it wasn't until the horse was halfway to the livery that he took notice and turned him toward the jail. Whatever memories were in his head, they weren't of the pleasant variety.

Without warning he started in again. "…was used to getting whatever he wanted and on this particular occasion what he wanted was Maribel Sinclair. Only problem was, she held some affection for my brother, Harry.

They traveled down the deserted street, Love clearing his throat a time or two, no doubt trying to cut some of the emotion that was causing his voice to crack.

"Harry, and I… we were walking home. Raymond came out of nowhere and the next thing I knew, Harry was writhing on the ground, a knife in his belly. He was dead before nightfall." Love pulled the horse to a stop in front of the jail. He sat for a minute staring at his hands then set the brake and jumped down. He didn't speak again until he reached the other side of the wagon. "The worst was what happened next."

Love opened the door to the sheriff's office and Johnny hobbled through. His heart roared in his chest as he went straight for the cell and dropped onto the cot. He didn't care if Love saw or knew what he was doing. He lifted one end of the mattress, grabbed the small bottle and plucked the cork free. The taste on his tongue was vile and bitter. He didn't care. He wanted it all every last drop but he didn't, figured he should save a little for later, it was going to be a long night.

"…not one member of that town stood up and did the right thing. We weren't in some back alley at night. It was Sunday afternoon and we were surrounded by fine church-going folk."

"I'm sorry, Love, but things like that happen." Johnny leaned back against the wall and put his leg up on the cot. Drawing a deep breath, he held it, waiting for the warmth to spread.

"Raymond's family and their money made it all go away. Before long my family was forced to move, my mother never recovered from losing her oldest boy and I swore I would find a way to prevent such blatant irreverence for the law."

"Sounds to me like we both went after the same kind of people, just in different ways."

"I chose the legal method."

"Do you think that makes you better than me? Because I gotta tell you, it don't. There are a lot a people out there that know how to play this game. Legal don't always get the job done."

"Yes. Well, that may not be something you and I can ever agree on but I will tell you one thing. What you have here, your friends and family, I have never had the privilege of witnessing before. These people would do anything for you and not because they are afraid of you, and not because they want something from you, they simply like you and that John Madrid Lancer makes you a very wealthy man."

"I'll be sure and tell Saint Peter at the pearly gates," Johnny said with his eyes closed. The fire of the laudanum was heating his skin, like he'd been lying on a hillside soaking up the sun and he smiled.

"No need, The Reverend and Mrs. Winslow will take care of that for you. That reminds me, she baked you some cookies; they're in the buckboard."

"Cookies?" He opened one eye and watched Love walk out the door then settled back to wait. Sure would be nice if they were her molasses cookies, they were his favorite.

The crack of gunfire sent Johnny leaping off the cot. Love stood motionless for a split second, a cookie hanging from his mouth a red stain blossoming from his chest. Johnny watched as he fell to his knees then flat onto his face. Behind him stood Reba.

"Can't say I ever liked that man," she said.

TBC


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

All the laudanum's warmth drained from Johnny's bones with the speed of the bullet, leaving behind an icy chill that froze him in place and fixed his fingers to the bars. Love was dead. He lay where he fell; head turned, eyes open, blood inching its way across the floorboards. Reba stood over him, the yellow dress gone and in its place the same clothes she'd worn the night Grayson died, dark pants, conchos running up the legs, and the golden shirt. Only the spurs were missing, but they would have ruined the surprise. And this surprise packed a wallop. Johnny never figured on this costing another man his life. It was supposed to be his life on the line, only his.

The gun dangled from Reba's fingertips as she stared down at Love's corpse. Her head tilted from one side to the other before she crouched low to study his face. "Crumbs, he's got crumbs in his beard," she said as she flicked at them with the muzzle of her colt. Looking around, she spotted the cloth bundle that had landed under Love's left hip and tugged it free. She brought it to her nose for a sniff. "Molasses, my favorite," she said then snaked a piece free from the folds and popped it in her mouth. She stood and set the gun on Val's desk then stepped closer to the bars. "Want one?" She asked, holding out the blue and white checkered cloth. There was blood splatter on some of the squares and inside were the crumbled remains of what once had been Mrs. Winslow's blue-ribbon molasses cookies.

Johnny shook his head. "No, thank you."

"Not since Mama…" Reba poked at the crumbs and pieces. She trotted out a pleased smile when she pulled out a near whole cookie, then quickly put the smile away. "No one has baked me anything since Mama died." Her eyes clouded over and a crease wrinkled her brow. "You sure?" she asked, pressing the cookie to his lips. "They're good."

Johnny shifted backward, putting more weight on his good leg, but he kept his attention on Reba. There was no telling what was running through her mind and he wasn't about to poke a stick into a beehive.

"Suit yourself," Reba said with a shrug and dropped the cookie back into the cloth. She tossed the bundle onto Val's desk and watched as it slid across the top nearly falling off the other side. "Tell me." She said, turning back to face him. "How does a killer go about getting the minister's wife to bake him cookies?" Blank green eyes stared at him, waiting for an answer that he had no intention of giving. "I think I know." She pressed her body against the bars and wrapped her fingers over his knuckles.

He expected an icy touch but her warmth sparked something inside him and he found himself leaning into it, he was so damn cold. Their lips brushed and the faint smell of the spiced cookie caused his mouth to water. Reba smiled; her hand left his fingers and traveled down the buttons of his shirt, not stopping at the waistband of his pants she reached inside. "This, this is what gets you everything you want." she said, giving him a firm squeeze and, using her new found leverage to pull him closer, close enough to rub against him. "Course those eyes and that smile sure don't hurt none."

"Think what you want about me, but Mrs. Winslow would never…"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." Reba's hand began to move up and down his length and she bit her lower lip. "I've seen the way she looks at you." Her voice was low, drawing him in closer until her breath warmed his earlobe. "Lust is a sin," she whispered.

Johnny collected his wits with a breath and angled back. "So's killing a man."

"You should know," Reba sighed.

"That may be, but I ain't the only one." Damn, if he wasn't having a hard time figuring out what she was after. Up to now, he'd been more wrong than right and the dead man lying in the middle of the floor was proof of that. A sour taste filled his mouth and he swallowed it back.

"Don't look at me like that." Reba said shaking her head, her face scrunched up in hurt. "I did that for you." She pulled her hand free and waved it in Love's direction. "I saved you."

"Saved me? Where the hell did you get the idea I wanted saving?" Heat rolled over him, disgust - anger - laudanum, he wasn't sure. "You shot him in the back."

Reba laughed. "Don't pretend you've never done the same thing."

Johnny didn't even have to think about it. "No. Never. Back-shootin's wrong no matter how you look at it. A man has the right to see his killer."

Her laughter grew louder. "You really believe that?"

"I do."

"Yet, in your book of rules, it's okay to gun down an unarmed man?"

Johnny looked away; he'd killed a few men like that in his day.

"I already know the answer to that one, don't I?" Reba slid back onto Val's desk and let her legs dangle. "You think letting a man see his killer makes you better than me? Where's the satisfaction in that?" She dragged the checkered cloth toward her and peered inside, finding another large piece she pulled it free and stuffed it in her mouth. "…for him I mean?" She tipped her head in Love's direction as she chewed. "He was enjoying these fine cookies." With her finger, she pushed some escaping crumbs back in through her lips. "It was a good last memory." She swallowed. "What would have been gained by scaring the shit out of him first? The outcome would a been the same." Reba laughed and shook her head. "And people call me crazy."

"Who calls you crazy?"

"Everyone." Picking up her gun, Reba hopped off the desk. "They don't say it with words but you can see it…" She tapped her temple with the barrel. "…in their eyes. After Mama died, you should a seen the way folks looked at me." She moved a few steps closer to the cell. "I killed that bastard." Her voice sent a chill through Johnny. "You know the one. The one you let get away." The click of the hammer was unnaturally loud as she raised the gun and aimed for Johnny's head. "Maybe I should kill you now. Wanted to the other night, would have, if not for your friends at the saloon. Course Pa, he didn't want me to, kept telling me I needed to let you live." She released the hammer and tipped the gun back. "Damn I wish he was here now to tell me what to do." Sucking in a breath, she turned away. "With all the people John Madrid killed…" she said in a voice so soft he had to strain to hear. "Why did you let that one go? Why?"

"Yeah, well I'm sorry about that, but I didn't exactly let him go, something distracted me." And that something was doing it again. Damn, he hated Grayson for so many things, but this, this was the worst.

"Bet it was a woman, it's always a woman."

"A woman…?" Johnny dipped his head and when he looked up felt the sting of a blush when he saw Reba. She'd set the gun down and unbuttoned her shirt way past tease and straight into eye-full. He may not be the best judge, at the moment, but it was plain to see this girl was falling faster than a man in the gallows and he no idea how to stop her. "Don't do that. You're worth more than that. Besides, it wasn't no woman, it was a gift, a gift from your Pa."

A hint of life sparked in her eyes as she did up one button. "Pa, he was generous with his gifts." She smiled, a real smile, and Johnny couldn't help but think she should do it more often. "He said his dying was a gift to me."

How many times had he heard Grayson say things like that, and how many times had those gifts worked out okay? "Believe me; his gifts have a way of twisting into your worst nightmare."

"How can you say that after everything he did for you?"

"Let's just say, Grayson only did things for Grayson, no one else and he's dead because he wanted to be dead, not as a gift to you."

"That's a lie, he said I needed to move on, find my way and I couldn't as long as he was suffering. And he said once he was gone you'd help me, that you were kind that way, and smart. It's why he didn't want me to kill you. It's why it had to be you that killed him, only you. And he called it. He called the turn every step of the way."

Damn, what was he supposed to say to that? He was doing exactly what Grayson wanted. How could that be? He was nothing like Grayson. He backed away from the bars and sat down on the cot. "No, Grayson didn't care about you or your brother. He was tired and in pain and that was the only way he could get you to go along with what he wanted. It's the way he operated."

"You're wrong. After I killed that man… my pa, Grayson as you call him, he was sweet and kind and gentle. He made all the pain and bad dreams go away. He touched me when no one else would, even the doctor and Remy thought I was crazy, but not Pa, he was the only one who loved me."

"Why would your brother think you were crazy? You killed the man that murdered your mother and did God knows what to you."

"Wasn't the killing he had trouble with, it was what I did to him before I gutted him."

"Before?"

"Before." Reba smiled again and sat back down on Val's desk. She dropped a pinch of crumbs into her mouth. "I was twelve." She dusted her hands off on her pants. "And after he finished with Mama he decided it was my turn." Her eyes went blank and she was quiet for minute. "I don't remember thinking it then, but now, when the stink of a man is just right, I'm back there in our kitchen and all I can think is how grateful I am she wasn't alive to see the things he did to me. …or made me do to him." She sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. By the look on her face she was fighting to keep the tears from spilling down her cheek but one snuck through anyway. Real fast, she wiped it away. "How I got the knife away from him, bleeding like I was, I can't say. But I do know what I did with it." She grabbed hold of the edge of the desk like she was afraid she'd fall off and looked Johnny straight in the eyes. "I cut it off and jammed that thing in his mouth." Reba lips stretched into a thin smile. "Then I killed him," she said with a single, confident nod.

A stab of guilt caused Johnny's heart to skip a beat and he looked away. "Seems to me he deserved what he got."

"Ya well, let's just say, the minister's wife never baked me any cookies. Hell, even the local priest wouldn't come near me. Said I'd been marked by the devil."

"That was wrong."

She drew in a ragged breath and straightened. "Maybe, but Pa said it was the way folks are, that they don't know how to act around people like us. He said the people in your village attacked you too, they broke your hand and dragged you behind a horse." Her voice carried no emotion and her lifeless green eyes drained away his strength.

Johnny slid his tongue over his upper lip and sighed. These were memories he didn't want stirred up again, least not now.

"That was wrong too, wouldn't you say?"

He leaned back and slipped his hand under the pillow, wrapping his fingers around the cool glass that waited for him. His leg wasn't hurting but Reba had managed to open up every old wound and he silently prayed for the pain to stop as he drained the last remaining drops.

"Did you know Pa was there? He saw how bad off you were and tried to do for you what he did for me. He sat with you, wanted to take you away, keep you safe until that awful woman and her giant of a brother sent him away. They said you were too sick to travel, that you'd die, but as soon as Pa left, she took you. He searched for you, until he finally found you, alone on Christmas Eve. And his first gift to you was the revenge you wanted more than anything in the world." Reba looked around the room. Sure could use a drink. Ya think there's any whiskey around here?"

"Val usually keeps some tequila in his bottom drawer," Johnny said with a relaxed wave of the hand and a laugh. Grayson's version, dark and twisted, yet with enough threads of truth to make it almost believable, even to him.

She leaned over the back of the desk and stretched to reach the drawer. "Shit, it sure ain't the good stuff, is it?" she said as she pulled herself upright.

"Ya, well, Val ain't never been known for being too particular."

"It'll do." She pulled the cork, raised the bottle in a toast, and drank a small sip, pinching a face. "I figure we don't have much time before they come barreling into town. A girl can only hide under a walnut shell for so long before they start to figure it out. "Wedding," she sighed. "They make it so easy, what with so much going on at once and the fact that everyone arrives in a buggy. There's no taking shortcuts with buggy horses and the livery, , well there was only one horse left and he don't take well to being ridden."

"Is there a point to all this? I mean, once they show up and see Love's dead…"

"We can be a family, you and me." Reba hopped off the desk. "I can pleasure you in ways you won't believe, make you never want another woman for as long as you live. Come with me and save me from whatever it is you think I am." She dug through the top drawer until she found the key. "You've saved damn near everyone else in this town. Why not me?"

"I can't save you Reba, only you can do that. And after what you just did here, I'm not sure that's possible."

"Not possible?" Her head tilted to one side and she looked to be considering the words as if the thought had never crossed her mind. "Course it is. Pa said. He knew one way or another Remy would be gone and said you'd take care of me. There's no way you'd leave me, 'cause this was all your fault." She sucked in a few deep breaths. "And from what I've seen, now that Love is gone, everyone in this town will look the other way."

"Why would they do that? Three men are dead. Someone has to pay and my ticket is only punched for one."

Reba looked surprised. "I've watched these people. All week I've watched them, and I gotta tell you, not one of them believes you killed my pa, not one. From that, lily-white lass, your brother married today, to the whores at the Painted Lady to the minister and his wife. They know what you are and what you've done, yet they still believe you're innocent. But that ain't the kicker. The two that surprised me the most is those two that run the saloon. I mean… they saw it… they say it all, Flo stood at the top of the stairs and Tom came running from the kitchen just in time. Why? Why is it they never told?"

Johnny felt his stomach try to turn inside out. He thought he remembered them being there, but so much of the night was a blur, he wasn't sure. "I don't know." He shook his head trying to stir some piece of the memory loose. "It's not like I asked them… I mean why would they protect me like that?"

"You don't get it, do you?" Reba's eyes narrowed and she brought the bottle to her lips. She took a long pull, but this time it didn't go down so smooth and she coughed. When she finished there was a fire in her eyes Johnny hadn't seen before. "I'll tell you why." She waved the bottle in the air splashing some out when she talked. "It's the same reason I dress like you, the same reason I had Remy steal your beads, it's because for some God-damn reason you're special. To everyone." She slammed the bottle down onto the desk sending a spray of tequila into the air. "Shit, you got all kinds of people feeding you laudanum, even the damn sheriff, and half the whores are crying their eyes out cause they're afraid you're gonna hang. I know you won't believe me, but, even Pa wept like a baby when he heard you'd been killed in Mexico. Never cried like that for my mama, never, not even when he seen what was done to her. But you, you even got Remy to run off, my own flesh and blood."

Her eyes had plenty of life in them now, and there was no doubt she was angry, real angry, She paced back and forth, hitting a squeaking board every couple of steps that caused her shoulders to bunch.

"It was you who made Pa proud, not me. It was you he loved." Her voice softened with those words and she took on a look of surprise. A strangled laugh escaped her lips. "Funny thing, people thought he kept me around because I reminded him of Mama, but they were wrong. It was you and your Mama I was supposed to be. The gifts he gave me?" She tossed the key ring onto the desk and ripped open her shirt, sending the few buttoned buttons to the floor then picked up the gun. "He taught me to shoot like you and to fuck like your mother, the only woman to ever pleasure him. Shit, why do you think Stu did whatever I asked?"

Johnny swallowed back the bitter taste that filled his mouth. When he was young, he'd heard men talk about his mother that way, but the thought that Grayson had taught Reba her tricks made him feel sick inside.

"It was always, about you." Reba stood there for a minute. "I know; I know what I'm supposed to do." She dug into her pocket and pulled out his beads. "Here." She tossed them through the bars and they landed at his feet. "Pa said they gave you hope. Consider it my gift to you."

He bent to pick up the beads and when he looked up Reba was gone.

TBC


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Johnny dragged the beads through his fingers, staring at Love's body and the open door. Hope. What the hell was that supposed to mean? These beads never gave him hope, it was where he put his hate, the hate for the man he thought killed his mother, the hate he felt for his father and the hate for the life he'd been forced to live. His laugh broke the silence. Maybe Grayson wasn't wrong. Each thought of hate came wrapped up in the hope of watching those he hated die. Hell, he hoped he'd do more than watch.

A shatter of glass pulled him from both his thoughts and the cot. He strained to see where it came from, across the street? The mercantile? He couldn't be sure, his head was swimming and the wagon blocked his view. What was Reba up to? Was she gathering supplies to head out of town or was she arming herself so she could pick folks off as they road in? A wave of pain ran up his leg and he plopped back down.

With the beads still curled around his fingers he leaned back and closed his eyes. Hope. Where the hell was he supposed to find hope now? He twisted the beads around his wrist then ran his finger over the cool glass remembering how many times he'd worried them.

Inez. She pinned all her hope on them; when his hand started to heal, she made him string them over and over and over again. That gave her hope, hope everything would be all right. The only hope he had now was that he wouldn't hang, or a day when he didn't crave the laudanum.

The sound of a lone rider got his heart pumping. He jumped from the cot again and jammed himself into the front corner of the cell, hoping to catch sight of horse or rider. The view was limited, a gray, coming in fast, was all he could make out. He listened as the horse resisted the quick stop and held his breath when he heard the rumble of footsteps on the boardwalk. The release of that breath came out as a low whistle when Scott's face appeared in the window. Johnny waved him in and he rounded the corner, coming up short at Love's feet.

"That's not good," he said, stepping over the body. "She gone?" he asked between breaths.

"She's gone. Not sure where though." Johnny pressed his face to the bars. "Damn, I'm glad to see you."

"Same here, Johnny, same here." The weight of Scott's eyes made him twitch. They studied every inch of him before darting away while Scott grabbed the key from Val's desk. "You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with worry.

"Yeah, I'm good." The words came out softer than he would a liked but he finished with a big smile.

Scott nodded but the lift of his brow said he didn't believe the words or the smile. "Reba sure knows how to play people. She flitted from one to another always making sure someone was watching. Next thing we knew she wasn't with anyone. I wish I'd noticed sooner. It was Grace who figured it out. Heck, she had her gray saddled and was passing me the reins before the word spread."

"Getting here sooner wouldn't a done him no good." Johnny nodded toward Love. "It was the first thing she did, said she did it for me." He watched the questions form on Scott's lips then disappear without being asked; instead he focused on unlocking the door. Johnny stepped out of the way, ignoring the stab of pain in his leg. Once the door was open, he charged forward hiding his limp the best he could. The desk then the coat rack offered much needed support and he tugged his gun belt free. "We have to find her," he said slipping the belt around his hips. "She's got things all twisted up." He pulled tight on the leather, slipped the prongs into the holes then bent to tie it to his thigh. When he looked up, Scott stood beside him, a rifle in one hand, Johnny's colt in the other. It had been a while. He wrapped his fingers around the worn wooden grip. Hope. This was where his hope, and the hope of many others, had lived for more years than he could remember.

"Maybe she'll leave town, go look for her brother. There's nothing for her here."

"That's true, but she's not thinking clear, she's…" Through the door, Johnny's eyes scanned the empty street, "The things Grayson did to her..." He snorted and shook his head, looking back at Scott. "I thought I could save her, thought she was like me, that there was hope..."

"Johnny." The weight of those eyes got him twitching again. "Just how were you planning to do that?" He watched the bob in Scott's throat as he swallowed back his fear. "How the hell were you going to save anyone, hanging from the end of a rope or…?"

"Not now, Scott." He looked into the street again. "Now, we have to find her." His heart held onto a fear of its own, the fear that Reba would try to take out everyone he cared about. Johnny searched the rooftops and upper windows for any sign of her then stepped outside, Scott was close behind. "I don't see her. Do you?"

"No, I don't, but her horse is still here, so she hasn't left town."

A glint of light caught Johnny's eye. "There." He pointed. "I heard glass breaking earlier; it looks like she broke into the store. I'll check there; you go look in the saloon. Stay close." He waved his gun toward the overhang. Scott nodded his agreement before moving out. "Oh, and Scott…" He waited for his brother to look at him. "Be careful."

"You too," he said.

Johnny watched his brother for a beat then started across the street. Maybe she's still there, maybe he could… What? What the hell did he think he could do? There was no saving Reba, not after the way she gunned down Love.

The door to the store was open about a hand's width and the lower section of its window was gone. Johnny listened, but only the sound of his own jagged breaths met his ears. With the muzzle of his gun, he widened the opening, stopping when the squeak of the hinge pierced the silence. He listened once more, searching the shadows. Nothing looked out of place, only the crunch of broken glass beneath his feet, as he moved forward, gave any indication of something wrong.

Wiping the sting of sweat from his eyes, he leaned against the counter. His leg was making damn sure he didn't forget about it. It wasn't a knee buckling pain, but it was a distraction and it made moving tough. It took a minute, but his head cleared and his eyes began to adjust to the darkness.

The gun case was locked and the weapons were lined up. Beneath them, in deep drawers, the boxes of shells and bullets were evenly stacked. Tate kept an orderly shop and it was clear everything was as he left it when he locked up Saturday night.

What had Reba come here for? What was she up to?

He walked behind the next counter, the apothecary, and ran a finger over the shelves looking at the brightly colored labels; Warburg's Tincture, Hamlin's Wizard Oil and the packets of Fuller's Earth. His finger stopped at the clear rectangular bottle with the plain yellow label and red print. The bottom read, E.R. Durkee. The only picture on this bottle was of a skull and crossbones. Under that, the word laudanum was in straightforward letters and beneath that 'poison'. Before he could reason with himself, his fingers wrapped around the bottle. Just a little and his leg would quit bothering him. Just a little and he could think, maybe figure out what she's up to.

An empty space a few rows down caught his attention. He shoved the laudanum bottle into his pants pocket and moved over. A bottle was missing. He reached between the perfect rows and pulled the next one forward. Brown, like the corked laudanum bottle he was used to, only bigger, the raised letters around the neck read poison and the black print on the label said, phenol. He almost dropped it as he jammed it back onto the shelf and took off for the door. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all. What had he done?

Bolts of pain ran up his leg as he raced across the street to the saloon. He was almost to the door when Scott ran out calling his name. They nearly collided. Scott grabbed hold of both shoulders and stopped his forward motion. The action caused his leg to buckle but Scott's grip kept him upright.

"You found her." It wasn't a question. "She's dead." Johnny pulled away to go inside and his leg started to give out.

Scott was there; his arm taking hold and giving much needed support. "Hold on. There's nothing you can do for her."

A cloud of dust rising at the south end of the street signaled someone's approach and the buggy holding Val and Murdoch burst through the haze.

Crammed into that seat the way they were, they looked about as uncomfortable as two men could. Neither wasted any time climbing out. Val's feet hit the ground before the brake was set. Murdoch took a little longer, his legs difficult to untangle from the cramped space. "Johnny! Are you alright?" Their voices tumbled out as one.

"Me?" His leg was screaming at him, the bottle hidden in his pocket was jabbing into his thigh and rivers of sweat were running down his back causing his shirt to stick, but yeah, he was alright. Hell, he was still standing, sort-a. "I'm fine. Love and Reba…" He shook his head. "Not so lucky."

Murdoch moved in close and took hold of the arm Scott wasn't hanging on to. "Let's get you inside. You don't look fine."

"Love?" Val asked as he followed them inside.

"He's in your office. Reba shot him. Poor guy didn't stand a chance." The look traded between Scott and Murdoch did not go unnoticed, but there would be time for that later.

"And Reba? Where's she?"

"In there," Scott waved his free hand toward the back.

Val raised a brow.

"Don't look at me," Johnny said.

"I'll go with you, Val," Scott said gently pushing Johnny into a nearby chair. He crossed the room and stood beside Val, they exchanged a few hushed words then walked past the bar and turned the corner.

I'm sorry, Johnny." Murdoch's voice broke his focus on the empty doorway. "I was supposed to keep an eye on her. I was…"

Johnny offered up a smile. "Murdoch, she pulled one over on you, it happens," he said with a pat to his father's belly.

"Not to me it doesn't." Murdoch's booming voice caused Johnny to flinch. "It shouldn't have happened to me."

"I'd bet Reba dragged you over to dance with old Widow Fargate." He tugged at his shirt; damn it was hot in here. "She knew you couldn't say no to that woman." Murdoch's widening eyes told him he was on the right trail. "She probably said she'd be with Scott and you watched her walk right up to him." A nod told him to go on. "From Scott she moved on, to Val, maybe, then the Reverend? Hell, if Reba knew anything it was how to play the game, Grayson would a seen to that."

"Of course you're right, Johnny." Murdoch rubbed his chin. "But it doesn't make it any easier. You could have been killed."

He closed his eyes for a minute, his heart felt like it was about to beat straight out of his chest and the bottle in his pocket kept digging into him each time he changes positions, which had been about fifteen times since he sat down. "Yeah, well, I'm still breathing." He was having trouble sitting still, the chair was getting more and more uncomfortable. "Thirsty though, do ya think you could get me some water?"

"That I can do." Murdoch grabbed hold of his shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. "Is there anything else?"

"No, I'm good." Johnny waited for him to turn his back and reached for his pocket. He had a thirst alright but it sure wasn't for water. Grateful for the looser cut of his wedding pants, it was easy to wrap his fingers around the bottle but damn if Scott and Val didn't ruin it by walking out from the back just as he was ready to pull it free.

Val eyed him for a minute and all Johnny could do was squirm in the hard chair feeling like he'd been caught by some sweet young things daddy. "I need your limping ass back here, if ya ain't too busy."

All four heads looked to the street at the sound of another buggy. Scott covered the distance in a few long strides and pressed against the wall to peer out. He blew out a breath and pushed open the door. "It's Sam."

"Good." Murdoch said, "I want him to take a look at Johnny."

"I'm fine Murdoch, besides, Val needs me."

"Yup I do as a matter of fact, got something I thing you should see, first off. And Scott…"

Scott turned his head to look at Val. "Maybe you could take Sam to see Love, that way as soon as Clark gets back he can haul the body over to his place and get it ready to send him back to Sacramento. I'd like to do that right quick." He sighed. "I'll need to send off a telegram to the man's wife, I suppose. Do you think Sam could…?"

"I'll ask," Scott said as he pushed the doors open and walked out to meet him.

"Worst part of the job, writing God damn letters," Val muttered more or less to himself then he looked at Johnny. "Ya ready?" He offered a hand.

"I got it," he said throwing off Val's offer. "Just needed a minute is all," He stood, wobbled a time or two then steadied. Murdoch's arm went out at the ready and hung in the air just in case. Johnny was determined not to use it, but took comfort in the gesture. Instead he used the bar for support as he worked his way across the room then the wall down the narrow hallway. He stopped at the door to her room and sucked in a few deep breaths. The pain was more than he bargained for and he felt the jab of the laudanum bottle. His hand, as if it had a mind of its own, slipped back into his pocket. If only they weren't standing so close, he could take just a sip, no one would need to know and he'd…

"I thought you'd want to see her, especially after you read this." Val held out a folded piece of, light blue, paper.

Johnny didn't move, he just stood there, holding on to the bottle in his pocket, wishing they would both go away, just for a minute, that's all he needed, one little minute and he could take a sip, maybe two. But Val kept right on staring, waiting, like he expected him to do something.

"Ya gonna take this?" Val wagged the paper in front of his face then leaned in close. His voice was soft. "Or are you gonna stand there, thinking about what you got in that pocket a yours."

With a swoop of his hand, Johnny grabbed the paper, pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room. The show used up everything he had and he made the quick decision to land on the corner of the bed with as much grace as possible.

Damn, if that didn't start a stampede of pain from his leg. His vision blurred and he wiped at the sweat that dripped into his eyes. He was surprised by the heavy hand that landed on his back and knew at once it was Murdoch. A part of him welcomed it, another part, not so much. Johnny nodded, raised a hand to push it away and cocked a smile. "I'm okay."

He took a minute, steadied his breath and looked around the room. It wasn't much different than any of the others he'd been in; of course there was one exception but he wasn't ready to look at her, not yet any way. The pants and shirt she'd worn were left on the chair by the window, folded in a neat pile. Sitting on top were her spurs. They needed a polish; maybe he could do that for her.

"That's where she put the note, Johnny, under the spurs."

"Damn it, quit watching me." Johnny regretted the anger in his voice. He knew Val and Murdoch were only trying to help, but it wasn't working, he felt crowded and that was the last thing he wanted to feel. He managed to catch the next burst of anger in his throat, but by the way they both stepped back, it had more than likely moved straight to his eyes. Satisfied that they were as far away as they could get and still be in the room, Johnny pushed back on the bed.

The soft mattress sagged with his shift in weight and Reba's foot bumped him. It surprised him at first, not that he forgot she was there but that, even dead, she didn't want to be ignored. He twisted to push the foot back. She wasn't wearing her riding boots. They were sitting, side-by-side, under the chair with her clothes. Instead she wore slippers, shiny green with cream colored stitching. They matched the green of her dress. He turned to get a better look. The dress wasn't anything he expected Reba to wear, deep green, tiny buttons and lace tucked up close to her chin, she looked like a schoolmarm not a… messed up kid.

It wasn't until he looked closer that he saw where the poison had touched her lips and the trail of white it left on her cheek. He dipped his head, feeling a twinge of guilt that she was dead, knowing that a lot of the reason was because of the one thing he didn't do.

The note slipped from his fingers and began to drift to the floor. He caught it in midair and saw his name written in the outside. She'd taken her time with it, made the 'J' all fancy. He ran a finger over the letters, tracing each one then opened the note.

Dear Johnny,

Pa always called you John but that don't fit the man I met. John sounds cold and heartless, that is not you.

My name is Rebecca Elizabeth Maynard, that's my real name, my God given name. I was named after my mama, the finest woman to ever live. She found good in everyone even searched for it in the man who killed her, but that's who she was, nothing could change that. Me, I let things change me, but no more.

Rebecca Elizabeth Maynard wanted to be a dressmaker, never a whore, or a cheat, or a killer. It is that name I want on my marker, if you please. I believe you will honor that wish because you are honorable, nothing like the man I thought you would be.

I want it known that it was me who killed the man I called Pa. He went by two names that I know of, Ace Gray and Horace Grayson. He was a liar and a cheater and deserved it. I also killed the man named Love. Because I. Just because. And I killed Stu because Pa told me to.

There are others, but that covers the ones that matter to you.

Don't let this gift turn out like one of Pa's. You deserve good things. Believe it. A girl like me don't have many chances and I used mine all up, but that's okay cause I win. I got to call the turn this time, not Pa.

One more thing, Remy knows it aint in the eyes. You remember that if you two ever meet up. He's a better shot than he lets on. He's better than me and there's a damn good chance he's better than you.

See, you did save me and I thank you.

Rebecca

He's not sure how long he sat there and he couldn't help but think that she had it backwards, that it was she who saved him. Voices began to worm their way past the words on the light blue page. Sam was standing over Reba.

"It rolled under the bed," Val said holding up the brown bottle.

"Carbolic," Sam shook his head. "Men use a gun and women, women use this." He took the bottle and shook it. "If it was full, she was dead before the bottle hit the floor." He set it on the table beside the bed.

Val was tugging the letter from his hand muttering something about needing it for Judge Sloane. And all of a sudden he felt so God damn tired, like he could sleep for a week.

Sam's face appeared in front of him and he was wearing his glasses, which meant business. He lifted one eyelid then the other before moving on to his wrist. He made clucking noises and shook his head, a sure sign he wasn't happy.

"You look tired, Sam," Johnny said. "Rough day?"

"Rough week, but I don't need to tell you that." Sam bent to examine his leg. "How does it feel?" he asked as he ran his hands over the bruise.

"Hurts some, but I'll live." He tried to smile, but he didn't have it in him, he was too damn tired. Think I might a done a little too much."

"You think so, do you?" Sam scowled and he looked at him over the top of his glasses. "By the looks of the swelling, I'm inclined to agree with you." He stood and looked at Val. "The letter? Did it clear him?"

"It did. A suicide confession is about as clear cut as it gets."

"So, he's no longer required to stay in the jail?"

"Nope." Val shook his head "Think I'd have him stay in town, though, he'll need to meet with the judge tomorrow so he can dismiss the charges."

"That's a relief," Murdoch said. "I knew you didn't do it." He planted a firm hand on his shoulder and his grin was so damn big it looked like his face would split in two.

"Where's Scott?"

"Outside, trying to keep the townsfolk from getting in the way, why?"

"Does he know?"

"Yup, he does, Little Brother." Scott stood in the doorway, his grin damn near as big as Murdoch's. "The best wedding present we could hope for."

TBC


	48. Chapter 48

A/N Sorry this one took so long. It was a tough one to get right. Would love to hear your opinions on whether I did or not. Thanks SO much for reading. cJan

Chapter 48

In the week since the girl's funeral, he'd made two promises. One had yet to be tested, confirmation of his son's inner strength; the second was proving to be the most difficult promise Murdoch Lancer had ever made. He stood in the open doorway; hand on the knob, staring into the watering, red-rimmed eyes of his son.

"Get out, Murdoch." Johnny's voice was hoarse. His teeth chattered. "Get out." His arms and legs shook as he eased himself to the floor. Pulling a blanket with him, he curled into a ball in front of the freshly stoked fire. "Please."

The father in him wanted to stay and wrap his son in his arms, but he'd made that damned promise, and in return, Johnny was here at Lancer, not off God-knows-where suffering alone. He'd warned how bad things would get, as had Willie, but none of that mattered. This was where Johnny belonged and Murdoch would do whatever was asked of him to make his son comfortable, anything, except giving him more laudanum.

The click of the door latch mirrored the click of Johnny's teeth and Murdoch fought the urge to rush back in. He ran his hand over the smooth door, not carved like the ones in the front of the house, plain and unadorned, like the staff that was supposed to live behind it. As it turned out, those who worked at Lancer were nothing like their eastern counterparts. They preferred festive attire and their own families. An arrangement Murdoch found pleasurable but one that had taken Catherine some time to accept.

Turning away from the door, regret weighed on him. He released a deep, heaving sigh that did nothing to lighten his burden. His initial demand to stop the laudanum straightaway had nearly splintered the family. Johnny was the most adamant. He'd do it his way. But, what kind of father would he be if he allowed Johnny to make that decision? He hadn't made a sound choice since this whole mess began. He should never have allowed the laudanum to take control, never have come to town to meet with Grayson and, for God's sake, he certainly never should have been willing to confess to Grayson's murder. But what Murdoch realized now, was that those were not choices. Once things were set into motion, Johnny saw no other road. A defeated laugh pushed past Murdoch's lips. If there was a finger that needed pointing it was straight back at him and that damn punch.

Murdoch dipped his head as he entered the stairwell and still managed to crack it against the low beam. This time blood slicked his fingers when he pulled them away from the welt. He'd walked this hall how many times? Up and down with wood, spent ashes, fresh water, dirty water, clean towels, soiled towels, broth, blankets; endless trips. Damn fool should know how far to duck.

He stopped at the base of the stairs. Their creak and his sputtering had drowned out the pitiful sounds of his son's body trying to rid itself of the vile poison. He feared Johnny's strength was waning, how much more could he endure without begging for the one thing that would make it all go away? And if he did beg, would Murdoch have the resolve to refuse?

Johnny's words echoed. 'Understand one thing, Murdoch, no one will see me like that, no one.' A wisp of regret surfaced. Murdoch had, with a few concessions, won that battle but maybe it would have been better if he hadn't. A selfish thread longed to be spared this experience, yearned to not bear witness to the things Grayson has done to his son. He was a detestable man, a man deserving of a far more gruesome death than the one Reba metered out. Another sigh, Murdoch loathed what Grayson ignited in him, hated the simmering darkness that lay sheathed beneath the surface. He was a rational man, a man who took pride in looking at things with a clear head, yet he'd allowed Grayson to take control from the beginning. 'With the stroke of a pen, I was able to rid myself of the whore and her son.' Murdoch's fist tightened at the thought. That hook to the jaw was exactly what Grayson was after; it allowed him to set much of the week's turmoil into motion.

Above, the room grew quiet, a brief moment of silence between the retching and the moaning. Murdoch moved down the narrow corridor toward the kitchen and away from the sounds. Johnny tried not to moan. Yesterday, or was it the day before, he bit his lip until it bled. But the moaning couldn't be stopped, not any more than the shaking could be stopped or the rivers of sweat, the vomit, the running nose, or the diarrhea. But as bad as all that was, the worst was his inability to sleep. Johnny was exhausted. He tried to sleep. He wanted to sleep. His eyes were circled red and tears leaked down his cheeks from the jaw-cracking yawns, but his body wouldn't allow it.

Murdoch stood in the middle of the kitchen and yawned. These days had been endless, for the both of them. The kitchen was a mess. No Maria or Teresa to scurry through and clean in his wake. The women were staying in Spanish Wells keeping Willie's Café open for business, per Johnny's request. And Scott and Willie were in San Francisco, again at Johnny's request.

He needed coffee. A few cups of his dark brew and he'd be ready. It boiled black from the spout into his cup. Heedlessly he drank. The black liquid scorched his tongue and the jerk of his arm sent scalding liquid down the front of his shirt. "Damn it." He grabbed a cloth, stuffed it between shirt and skin and slumped into a nearby chair. Exhaustion crashed into him and he settled his head onto folded arms. Sleep had not been his friend for some time either, though nightmares would be preferred to this living hell. Hopefully Scott was faring better.

~Lancer~

Willie nestled deeper into the plump comforter. She watched the flicker of light dance across the fleur-de-lis wallpaper and waited for the key to rattle the lock. It did and the door creaked open.

"Did anyone see you?" She asked sitting up, allowing the covers to settle at her waist.

"Not a soul," Scott whispered. He turned to press the door closed without the customary click of the latch. "The kitchen was empty."

"And the strawberries? Did you find them?"

Scott stepped into the wash of light and pulled a gleaming silver bowl from behind his back. His smile caused more than Willie's heart to flutter. "I did." His face turned serious. "Though, it did occur to me, that perhaps I should feel offended,"

"Why?" she asked, as she plucked a dimpled berry from the bowl and held it to her lips. Her mouth watered at the smell.

"Sending me out of our honeymoon bed in a quest for fruit?" Scott plopped onto the bed beside her. He selected a small berry and popped it into his mouth, discarding the leafy end back into the bowl.

"Now, Scott, it wasn't me, not really." Willie pushed back against the headboard and took Scott's hand, guiding it toward her belly. "Blame her."

"So, it's a her now, is it?"

"I think so," Willie said, as she bit into her strawberry. She giggled when the juices dribbled down her fingers and dripped onto her bare breast.

"I'm not sure how Murdoch will take that news; though he took the news of her pending arrival better than I expected."

"After all that's happened? The news of our baby was probably a relief, especially when he feared he'd lost you to that fire."

"You do tend to simplify things, Wilhelmina Lancer," Scott said as took the stem from her fingers and dropped it into the bowl. He then placed the bowl on the bedside table. "That's one of the reasons I love you." He leaned in and kissed away the juice that clung to her chin. "Mmmm sweet." He climbed onto the bed and straddled her, kissing his way down her forehead and nose until his tongue slipped between her lips.

Willie did nothing to stop the moan that escaped. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt while sliding lower into the bed. Her fingers lingered over his firm muscles as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Pressing against the mattress with her elbows, she rose to meet him as Scott dropped his head toward her breast. Her nipples hardened at the flick of his tongue. A gentle nibble caused a sudden intake of breath. She watched his tongue as it meandered across her breast to lap up the droplets of pink juice. His rough hands drifted over her sensitive flesh eliciting soft whimpers. Heat welled from within when his fingers found their mark. Her hips rose and fell to the rhythm. Her head lolled back and her mouth fell open. The sounds she made surprised her and she gave in, allowing her body to convulse in unbridled pleasure. Never before had she experienced anything like this, a dream, too good to be true.

She felt weightless as she flopped to the bed gasping for breath.

"Happy?"

With eyes closed, she ran her tongue over her lips and nodded. "Oh yes, very."

"Good."

Willie's stomach growled, her eyes opened and she sat up. "Happy and hungry," she said plucking several berries from the bowl. She fed one to Scott, knowing exactly what it felt like for those lips and those teeth to… The heat of a blush crept across her cheeks. "Are you?"

"With you, I will always be happy." He stood, tugged off his pants then slid beneath the covers.

The cool touch of his skin excited her and she wrapped her leg around his. With one arm he pulled her close, the other he tucked behind his head.

"Are you feeling guilty?" she asked.

"It shows?"

"Not to anyone else."

A soft laugh escaped through his nose. "I'm doomed, then aren't I?"

"You are, there will be no keeping of secrets." She rolled over and rested her chin on his chest. His hand traveled up and down her back, making her feel small and safe.

"It just doesn't seem fair, here we are, and Johnny and Murdoch are home dealing with…"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "It is what they both wanted. I mean, given their choices."

His hand stopped. "True, but…"

"He'll beat this. The worst is nearly over and then the healing can begin." She ran her fingers over the fine hairs on his chest. "You do know he'd kick that remarkable behind of yours if he found out you'd spent one moment giving him pity."

"It's not pity. I just wish…" Scott paused. "Remarkable? Really?"

"Oh, yes, most definitely remarkable." Laughter bubbled from her as Scott flipped her to the mattress and began covering her with kisses.

~LANCER~

"Murdoch?"

He blinked, surprised by the flood of light. He'd only sat down for a minute.

"Murdoch? That can't be comfortable."

"Johnny?" He lifted his head from the table, rubbing at the crick in his neck. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"You must a been pretty tired to fall asleep like that. I'm sorry…"

"Stop." Murdoch raised his hand. "You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all." He was surprised by the joy he felt at seeing Johnny looking more like… Johnny. "Are you hungry?"

"Not so much. Needed out of that room. It's dark and it smells." He swayed slightly and placed a hand on the table. "My legs are wobbly as a new colt."

Murdoch studied him as he sat down across the table from him. "You're looking good."

"The hell I do." Johnny laughed. "But here's hoping I look better than you." He touched his forehead. "You have blood…"

Murdoch mirrored his action, fingering his bruise. "Damn doorway, I hit it every time."

Johnny's eyes darted away. "I'm sor…"

"None of this is your fault, Johnny." Murdoch stood and pulled out the cloth stuffed under his shirt. He caught Johnny's questioning stare. "It was a bad day. It was a succession of bad days." He tossed the coffee stained rag toward the sink. It missed and landed on the tile floor. "Days I think we would both just as soon forget," he said, bending to pick up the cloth.

"Not me."

The certainty in Johnny's words surprised Murdoch.

"Might be the only way I can keep this from happening again."

"Johnny, this was beyond your control. You were betrayed, by a friend." Murdoch pumped some water onto the soiled cloth and pressed it to his head. He looked at the dried blood. "You did the best you could, Johnny."

"My best wasn't good enough, was it?" He was quiet for a minute, when he spoke his voice was soft. "Johnny Madrid would a never been sucker punched like that."

"Yes, but…" Murdoch stopped himself. What he wanted to say was that Madrid doesn't live here anymore, but he knew that wasn't exactly true.

"But, what?"

"You've changed, Johnny. We all have. Trust may not come easily for any of us, but we have learned to give it."

"Is it worth it?"

Murdoch wasn't sure how to answer that, not now, not after everything that had happened. Instead he placed a hand over the stove. "Fire's out." He busied himself, pulling wood from the tinderbox and strategically placing the pieces into the firebox. "I'll warm some broth. You need something to keep up your strength."

"If you say so."

"Johnny?" Murdoch struck a match, holding it to the kindling. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Sure, Murdoch. Don't you worry about me. I'm gonna be just fine."

Murdoch closed the oven door and turned to watch Johnny head into the great room. He hoped that were true, more than anything, he hoped that were true.

With the broth on the stove Murdoch followed Johnny into the other room. Nervousness caused his stomach to roil when at first he didn't see any sign of him. Soft murmurs and stocking feet hanging off the end of the couch revealed his location. Johnny was sleeping. It was a restless sleep, his arms and legs twitched but it was sleep, much needed sleep. Murdoch pulled a blanket from the chest and covered his son then built the fire up to a small roar. He returned to the kitchen to clean up his mess and caught himself smiling during the most unsavory of chores.

A rap at the backdoor joggled his mind back to the running of the ranch. Ramón stood in the doorway with his hat in his hand, as he had every morning since Scott left.

"The men are ready to head out. Tenemos cuatro…" He held up four fingers. "Four wagons ready for el Sr. Smith from the railroad. This week, it has been muy bueno."

"That's good to hear, Ramón."

Ramón looked past him into the kitchen. "Sr. Lancer, mi madre, she would have come to help in la cocina."

"I know and please thank her for the kindness, but…" Murdoch looked briefly towards the other room.

"How is Johnny?" Ramón asked. "His leg, it is getting better?"

"As a matter of fact, I believe it is." Murdoch couldn't mask the relief in his voice.

Ramón offered a slip of a smile. "That is good, Senor." He pressed his hat to his head with a slight bow. "The men, they will be happy to hear the news."

He watched him turn to leave. "Ramón," Murdoch called.

The young man stopped, turning to look at him.

"Gracias. You and your family have been a great help these past few weeks."

"De nada, it is only what the Lancer family deserves," Ramón said then hurried out of sight.

Murdoch closed the door. He didn't know men as well as he thought. Ramón and Stu came to work at Lancer about the same time. Stu was a likable sort and made friends in short order. Ramón was far more difficult to get to know and was often alone. As a result, they'd placed their trust in the wrong man. "Is trust worth it?' Johnny had asked. Murdoch had to believe it was, otherwise Grayson won. And he wasn't about to let that man win.

The broth steamed as he ladled it into thick mugs. With care, he carried them into the great room. Johnny was up and had moved closer to the fire. He sat on the hassock with the blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders.

"Here." Murdoch stuck the mug in front of his face.

Johnny leaned back. "Not sure I'm ready…"

"Only one way to find out."

A trembling hand snuck out from the folds of the blanket and grabbed the handle. He took a sniff then set the mug on the floor. "Nope. Not ready."

Murdoch settled into his armchair, and, not wanting a repeat of yesterday, blew into the hot liquid,

"Was that Ramón?"

"It was."

"What does he know?"

"Only that you reinjured your leg in your search for the girl."

Johnny nodded but said nothing. He inched closer to the flames and pulled the blanket tighter.

Murdoch starred into his broth. How could the girl have done that, to drink carbolic…"She surprised me. I never expected her to… do what she did. The poor girl was crazy."

"Was she? I'm not so sure. I think she just might a had more sense than most. She'd been told things one way for as long as she could remember and when she found out they were all lies what other choice did she have?" A girl like that, alone in the world…"

"Nevertheless I'm grateful. If she kept up her charade the outcome for you was bleak." Murdoch took a small sip from the cup of broth.

"So you believed her, even though I said it was me."

"I have no reason to doubt her."

"I'd think you'd want to know the whole story."

"Is it wise to go down that road now that the charges have been dismissed?"

"He was right then."

"Who, Johnny?" Who was right?"

"Grayson."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"He said truth is a foolish waste of time. Most people want nothing to do with it; living with lies is more comfortable."

Murdoch stood and tossed his broth intro the fire. It hissed and crackled but did nothing to douse the flames. He was ashamed. He wanted, no needed, to believe that the girl killed Grayson. He sat back down in his chair and leaned forward. "Tell me then. Tell me the truth."

"Nope, it don't really matter. People believe what they want, see what they want. I could stand on a wagon shouting I did it and some folk would believe me and others wouldn't. I reckon you'd be one of the ones that wouldn't. Ain't ruffled by it. Some look at me and want to see a killer, others a rancher, you, you want to see a good man." He squeezed his eyes shut. "But not one of you want to see this." He picked up the mug and held it until the brown liquid sloshed over the rim.

Murdoch leaned forward and took the cup from his hand. "You are a good man."

TBC


	49. Chapter 49

A/N Please forgive the delay. RL has been a wild ride of late, but I pledge to finish this tale. Not much more left. Thanks for following along! ~~~ cJ

Chapter 49

"Scott!" Murdoch sprang to his feet, a broad smile dousing most of Scott's concerns about Johnny. "I didn't expect you back until Thursday."

"Based on that pile of paper you're working your way through," Scott said with a tilt of his head, "I'd say I was long overdue."

Three of Murdoch's long strides covered the distance between them and he planted his hands on Scott's shoulders. Their weight and the way Murdoch pulled him close, in a gesture akin to a hug, left no doubt in Scott's mind that he'd been missed. The buoyant smile faded as Murdoch searched behind him.

Scott's concerns flickered back to life. "Were you putting on a good front for Willie's benefit?"

Murdoch returned a quizzical look. "I'm eager to welcome the mother of my soon-to-be grandson." He puffed with pride.

"I'll have you know, she insists it's a girl," Scott replied, his anxiety quelled once more.

"A girl? Nonsense." Murdoch stepped to the French doors and peered out. "Where is she?"

"Spanish Wells, at the café."

"Ah Yes." Murdoch gave a knowing nod as he turned. "I suppose it will be difficult to close the place. It's been her home for many years."

"There are options," Scott said as he peeked over the back of the sofa, not that he expected to find his brother; the house was entirely too neat and too quiet for a pent up Johnny.

"Options? Don't tell me you plan on becoming a cook?"

"Lord no." Scott laughed. "Stuck inside all day? With Willie? I adore her but…"

"Stop." Murdoch's scowl held a hint of a smile. "Don't say anything you may have to swallow later. Let's just leave it at adore her."

"Believe me; it would come as no surprise to her, Murdoch. We know our limitations."

"Then you are a wiser man than I," Murdoch noted. "So, how was your trip?"

Scott felt the heat of blush color his cheeks. "It was… I mean we were…"

Murdoch cleared his throat. "Drink? I want a drink." He walked toward the sideboard before Scott could answer.

The clink of the stopper as it was pulled from the decanter brought an odd sense of comfort though not enough to dispel the nagging need to see his brother.

"You can stop worrying. Johnny's in the barn. Cleaning tack, I believe."

"That's a relief," Scott said. He took the offered drink and raised it in a feeble toast. "Is he…?"

"The leg bothers him some, which you'll see, but…" Murdoch tossed back his scotch, poured another and slumped onto the arm of the nearest chair. "He says he's fine. I have to believe that. I have to believe I will never watch him go through that again." His eyes were downcast, peering into the amber liquid. "How could I have been so tactless?"

Scott took a measured step forward unsure if Murdoch expected an answer. "It is difficult to understand things like this, Sir."

"I was a fool."

"No. You were worried and afraid. Fear drives us to do many things. Some we're proud of, others..."

Murdoch did not lift his gaze. "Telling him he couldn't come home, couldn't come back to Lancer unless he stopped taking the laudanum was certainly one of my darker moments. I am ashamed. He belonged here."

"Yes, he did, I won't deny that. But you came around and I'll wager Johnny has forgiven you."

There was a nearly imperceptible nod from his father. "Yes, John's capacity for forgiveness is rivaled only by yours. I should have had more faith, shown more compassion, understood his dread." He sipped his drink. "I've seen fear in the eyes of many a man over the years, yet for some reason I'm unable to recognize it in my own sons." For what seemed an eternity Murdoch sat silent, turning the glass in his hand. "He's stronger than I thought possible. There were times, times I almost gave in, moments I wanted to beg him to take some."

"But you didn't."

"No, no I didn't." Murdoch stood and set his half-empty glass on the table. "And to his credit he never asked, not once."

"Does that surprise you?"

"It did. But now, I think little would surprise me."

"Has Sam been out?"

"Yes, a few days ago. He says the leg is healing but the laudanum…" Murdoch shook his head. "I don't understand how a doctor can hold such disregard. To be honest, Sam has lost a bit of my favor. He knows Johnny. How can he be as naïve as I was? He calls it, 'nothing more than a disease of will'."

It was difficult to watch Murdoch agonize over his dear friend. "You've known each other for many years. Give it time. He's a country doctor. In his defense, perhaps those he's seen succumb have been weak. I confess, before the war, I had friends who overindulged, be it drink or remedies. I blamed their lack of character and for many that was how it began. Deep down Sam knows the truth; the only weakness Johnny is guilty of is his need to help others. In fact, if not for me…"

Murdoch stiffened. "You were in danger, Scott. Missing. We were all deeply concerned for your safety. He's taken a bullet for less and, like a bullet, once the laudanum took hold, the damage was done. It doesn't make him weak, it makes him human."

"Does that mean you think it could happen again?"

"I wish I knew. His behavior leads me to believe he would rather die; but put into similar circumstances…" Murdoch shrugged. "Who can predict the future?"

"We shouldn't underestimate how stubborn Johnny can be. Lancer stubbornness, is there anything more tenacious?"

"Oh, I don't know, Scott. I think Willie could give us a lesson or two."

Scott spun on his heels. "Johnny!" He took a minute to study his brother as he stood on the step. "You look well."

"And you - lie. I look like shit." He winced as he took the step then hooked his hat over the back of a dining chair. "Barely been outside for weeks, I'm as white as… Shit, Scott, I'm almost as white as you. I see you didn't get out much while you were away?" He winked. "And speaking of that, where is your lovely bride?"

"She'll be along." Scott sipped his drink, eyeing Johnny over the rim of the glass. He did look pale and there was a noticeable limp as he made his way across the room to the fire.

"The barn's cold," he said, holding his hands toward the flames.

"Is it?" Scott looked from Johnny's back to Murdoch. "We had an unusually warm stretch of days in San Francisco. Didn't they make their way here?"

"They did," Murdoch said. "But, apparently not enough to take the chill from the barn."

"So did you miss me, Little Brother?"

"Were you gone?" Johnny cast a glance over his shoulder and his face hinted at a smile. "Must a been too busy to notice."

Scott moved beside him and set his glass on the mantle. "I would have been here for you if you'd let me."

"Yeah, I know." Johnny ran his hands together then turned with a smile. "But, I swear, if you kept Willie waiting for a proper honeymoon… Let's just say there would a been hell to pay." The smile faded. "And believe me, I know all about hell."

Scott peered past Johnny to Murdoch. The look on his father's face left no doubt that Johnny spoke the truth. He put a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "But you're fine now, Johnny. Everything is fine now."

Johnny stood straight and gave Scott a soft pat on the belly. "Sure, Scott," he said. "Don't know about you, but I'm starving. Murdoch made another batch of stroganoff last night, and if you're lucky, I might leave you some."

Murdoch stepped closer, brushing against Scott's shoulder. Together, they watched Johnny head for the kitchen.

"Fine. He says he's fine." Murdoch said softly before returning to his desk and his stack of papers.

L*A*N*C*E*R

Scott crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe of the barn. "Thought I'd find you here."

"And you thought right," Johnny said as he draped the harness pad across Yankee's broad back.

"What I didn't expect was to see you preparing to hitch a wagon." Scott stepped inside, giving the Appaloosa's forehead a rub. "Going somewhere?"

"Yup." Johnny looked at him then focused on threading the cinch. "We both are."

"Spanish Wells, I hope." Scott walked around the spotted horse and helped center the breeching.

"That's the place."

"Good. It's only been a few hours," Scott said as he secured his side. "But, I miss Willie." He peered over the horse's rump. "My hope is Teresa has discovered she likes living in town."

"Don't you worry about Teresa; she's ready." Johnny looked up and gave Yankee a gentle pat.

"Ready?" Scott couldn't hide his surprise. It had been weeks since Johnny saw Teresa. "How would you know?"

"Shit, I can spot restless when I see it, and Teresa's been feeling boxed in for a while now." Johnny lifted the bridle from its peg and examined it.

"That's a relief," Scott said. "I was worried."

"She's not the one you need to be worried about." Johnny slid the bridle over his shoulder then pulled the breast collar from the tack box.

"Murdoch." Scott groaned. "He will be a challenge. He'll never allow Teresa to stay in Spanish Wells by herself."

"Ain't that the truth." Johnny smiled as he positioned the collar then worked the bridle over Yankee's head. "That's why I made sure Maria went with her." Johnny chuckled. "Living here will be a whole lot quieter if only one woman is in charge of the kitchen." He grabbed the traces and threw them over his shoulder. "Can you imagine Willie throwing her nickel on top? Boy howdy." Johnny released a low whistle. "I don't want to be around for that kind a fracas."

Scott grimaced. "She told me you'd understand, maybe even suggest someone to assist her, especially after the baby." He stepped away, allowing enough room for Johnny to lead the Appaloosa from the barn. "I like that you two get along so well," he said, following them outside. "But do you really expect Maria to take the bait?"

"You better hope so cuz Murdoch will be a whole lot easier to convince if Teresa has a mother hen scuttling about."

"Letting go is never easy," Scott said as he positioned the buckboard and lowered the shafts. "She's a grown woman and if it's something she wants…"

"Save it, Brother." Johnny put up a hand. Scott couldn't help but notice the slight tremor. "You sure as hell don't need to convince me."

"True enough," Scott said as he eyed Johnny's struggle with the traces. He moved to assist.

Johnny's arm stopped him. "I got this," he said then moved to Yankee's other side. His limp was more pronounced and the occasional flinch of pain creased his brow.

"We've established why I'm going to town, but what about you? Are you feeling alright? Do you need Sam?"

"No, not Sam."

"Why then?" Scott pushed.

"Need something, is all." Johnny walked past him and back into the barn.

Scott froze, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He knew there wasn't a drop of laudanum tobe found on Lancer. He'd seen to that before leaving for San Francisco.

"Need to see a man about a horse," Johnny said as he walked out of the barn with the driving lines.

The knot yanked tighter. A horse?" Scott asked. The trembling hand, the pain, the fact Johnny was wearing his jacket despite the high heat of the afternoon… He grabbed hold of Johnny's arm, squeezing tighter than he meant. "Is that supposed to be code for something?" He hated the doubt that consumed him but he had to be sure.

"No." Johnny's stare bore straight though him. "Not code."

"Why, then? Why are you going to town?" Scott demanded.

"Like I said." Johnny cast a glance to Scott's hand.

Scott responded by releasing his grip.

"I'm going to get Joker."

"Joker? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

Johnny began to weave the lines over Yankee's back and through the turrets. "I need to do something, Scott." He paused for a minute waiting for his hands to steady. "Figured working with Joker would do us both good."

"Is that wise?" Scott waved his hand in Johnny's direction. "I mean you're hardly in the condition to hitch a wagon."

Johnny slammed a clenched fist against the wagon. "Damn it, Scott, what do you take me for? I know what I can do better than you or Mur…"

"So he doesn't approve either."

Johnny dropped his head and looked toward the house. "He's not happy."

"I can understand why. Especially after what Joker did to Val."

"Why?" Johnny moved to Yankee's head and attached the lines. "What did he do to Val?" He didn't stay still long enough for an answer; instead, he made his way into the barn once more.

Scott needed to raise his voice to be heard. "Damn-near broke Val's back, if Mort Sinclair and Lou hadn't acted as fast as they did…"

"When was this?" Johnny asked as he walked back out with some lead line and a halter. He tossed them into the back of the wagon.

"After the wedding, when we realized the girl was gone. We'd all taken buggies, including Val, so he ran to the livery. Joker was the only saddle horse available."

Johnny huffed and looked disgusted. "Val, of all people, should know you can't rush a horse like that. What was he thinking?"

"Perhaps he wasn't thinking, Johnny. We had no idea what that girl was capable of."

"That girl had a name, Scott." Johnny took a few steps. A flicker of pain traveled across his face and he grabbed the side of the wagon.

Scott moved in, extending a hand of support.

Johnny batted his hand away. "I'm fine," he said then hoisted himself into the driver's seat.

Scott looked from Johnny to the hacienda questioning if they should be making the trip and curious if Murdoch knew Johnny was attempting it so soon.

"You coming?" Johnny asked.

Scott looked to the house one more time. He had no choice, either he joined Johnny or Johnny, no doubt, would head off by himself and that was a far worse prospect. Scott dropped his head in defeat, walked around the wagon and climbed in.

"Yah," Johnny shouted.

Yankee kept his head low and plodded forward. There wasn't a sudden move in this horse. Perhaps Johnny was aware of his limitations. Scott shrugged, working out the tension that had tightened his shoulder. Maybe he had overreacted.

An uneasy silence rode with them through the arch and out to the main road. Twice Scott opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't find the words. The third time he started with the obvious ones. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I don't want you to think that you're not trusted. It's just that, I know you're determined but… Damn it, it hasn't been that long; you must still feel it, want it. That doesn't go away in a week or even two; no matter how many times you say you're fine."

Johnny said nothing. Scott took it as a signal to push ahead.

"You need to know I – we will do whatever is necessary to keep you away from laudanum. What Willie, Val and I did for you in jail will never happen again. Those circumstances were unique and understood to a point; but there is no denying it clouded your judgment. You were willing to spend the rest of your life behind bars if you were lucky or hang if you weren't. And for what? That girl?"

The silence between them grew louder with each creak and pop of the wagon until Johnny slowed it to a crawl then stopped it all together. The stare that shot across the seat scorched with the heat of a branding iron and Scott found himself sliding a little further away.

"Feel better?" Johnny asked.

"It's not only me, we all just…"

"You all just, what?" Johnny's voice was low. Scott almost had to move in to hear it. "You think you can help me?"

"Well, I…"

"Well you can't. Wanting it eats away at me every minute; speaks to me with every breath. You think you can make that easier?"

Scott opened his mouth to speak but Johnny raised his palm to silence him.

"There is nothing you or Murdoch or Willie or Teresa or Val or anyone can do. It's me, only me. Do you understand?"

"You're not being fair, Johnny. You need to understand that we're here, we can talk…"

"Talk?" Johnny laughed. "You want to talk?" He snapped the lines and Yankee moved slowly forward. "There is only one thing you can do. Just back off."

"You may not need anything from us but there is something we need from you; if it's not too much trouble." Scott regretted his tone and expected a protest but none came so he continued. "Why, Johnny? Why were you willing to give up everything to protect her? She was nothing to you."

"Is that what I was doing?"

"It certainly seemed that way."

Johnny released a long slow breath. "You live a life like mine and sometimes you get to thinking that maybe three or four good years are more than you're entitled to. I thought you of all people would get that, Scott. I thought after all these years you understood." The wagon slowed to a stop once more, this time at the crossroads; north to Spanish Wells, east to Green River, south to Morro Coyo. Johnny gave a lengthy staredown each road.

"If you're not feeling up to this it's not too late to turn back. I'm perfectly capable of tethering a horse to a wagon, even if it is Joker."

"Ain't that. Haven't been in Green River since Rebecca's funeral; it's never a good thing to let too much time pass; sets tongues wagging."

"Now that I do understand, Brother, and as luck would have it Willie and I discussed heading into Green River tomorrow. She needs a few things before she… before people can tell she's in a family way. And I know, for a fact, she'd love to have your company. Nothing makes her happier than a Lancer on each arm."

"I'd like that." Johnny gave a twitch of a smile, looked once more down the road to Green River then turned the wagon north toward Spanish Wells. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The silence joined up with them once again, this time it was the companionable silence they were accustomed to. Johnny was right, he needed to show his face in Green River. It had taken a toll on him and it went beyond the time spent in jail. Once he was released he still had to meet with Judge Sloane and then it was the matter ofthe girl's burial. Johnny refused to walk away from her even then. He insisted on overseeing every detail, from the dress she wore to the headstone. And throughout those days it was necessary for him to continually up his dose of laudanum in order to remain in control; an irony that did not escape Scott. And all that time he and Murdoch were at odds over the laudanum, going home and the girl.

Johnny's voice split the silence. "How many times has your past has caught up with you?"

"A few," Scott said after a moment of deliberation.

"It's never what you expect. Is it?"

Scott shook his head. "No, it never is."

Scott leaned back and put his foot on the footboard. Neither of them spoke for a while.

"I think it's me that should be apologizing."

It took a minute for what Johnny said to sink in. "Why you?" Scott sat up straight. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"That's not the way I see it. You being shot at and tied up, left to walk back to town barefoot; the fire, Love's murder, Rebecca's death, and Remy… It's not over for him, no telling what road he's gonna take. Even Stu. It's all because of me."

"Johnny, you aren't responsible for what Grayson did. You are as much a victim as the rest of us. You believe that don't you? "

"One decision and none of this would have happened if I'd just changed that one decision."

"We've all made a bad decision, there's no point in…"

"All I needed to do was walk away; instead I hauled him to some God damned miracle worker. Why didn't I let him die?"

"Because you don't have it in you, Johnny, you aren't that kind of man."

Johnny shot him a look. "Why is it, my greatest regrets are over men I didn't kill? What does that make me?"

Scott didn't answer. The wagon turned down the main street and Johnny slowed to a stop in front of the Livery. "Don't take too long, Scott. Joker ain't known for his patience." He wrapped the lines around the brake lever.

"Wouldn't you rather get something to eat first? A man can eat Murdoch's stroganoff only so many times."

A look from the livery to Willie's brought a smile. "You know, Brother, I think you've got something there." Johnny moved slow getting down from the wagon. He took a few cautious steps. "Not bad." A look of pride picked up where the smile left off. "I'll let Lou know I'm here then meet you at Willie's."

"Sounds good." Scott took a few strides then stopped. "Oh, Johnny."

Johnny turned to look at him. "Yeah?"

"You asked what that made you."

Johnny lifted his chin, waiting for the answer.

"It makes you human."

TBC


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Willie jolted awake struck by the sudden need for a biscuit spread thick with marmalade. She rolled to face Scott, ready to wake him. Their wee one was hungry. He lay deep in sleep. Moonlight streamed through the parted curtain and flowed across his cheek and slightly parted lips. She watched as puffs of breath filled his cheeks until released in small bursts. Her finger traced the moons' path. His whisper of breath and the warmth of his skin reignited her passion sending her hand beneath the wedding quilt. Scott didn't stir; spent from their earlier dalliance. With a bit of persistence she knew she could rouse him, but in all fairness he deserved his rest. They'd have a lifetime.

Lancer was her home now but it was far larger than what she was used to in Spanish Wells and though she knew she was welcomed it felt odd to roam the darkened halls alone. She looked at Scott once more and snickered. He would well understand these feelings. In fact, he confided that he'd felt the very same when he first arrived. Murdoch had been far from welcoming. A stark contrast to the man she had come to know; though she did witness some of that surliness during his ugly quarrels with Johnny over the laudanum. Quarrels she felt partly responsible for since it was her idea to continue giving him small doses.

Her stomach growled, the marmalade had not been forgotten. She climbed from beneath the covers' warmth, but the chill did nothing to dissuade the craving. She pulled her pantaloons on beneath her nightdress and slipped Scott's discarded shirt over it. With a sharp tug she cinched her dressing gown tight about her waist. How much longer would that be possible? She took a moment to run her hand over her belly but the babe would have nothing of sentiment, she was hungry.

There was no need for a lamp. The full moon cast ample light, cascading down each step. Willie reached the kitchen and was in familiar territory. Even though the moon's glow did not reach directly she could see well enough to lift two biscuits from bread box in the larder. The marmalade sat on the table where she'd left it. She spread a cloth on the table, split both biscuits in two and slathered the halves. Marmalade oozed from the sides when she squeezed them together. Running her finger up the side of the knife she was careful to collect every last bit of gooey sweetness then licked her finger clean. Thoughts of Scott lying unclothed in their warm bed returned. Perhaps she should wake him after all.

The sound of pounding hooves caught her attention. She collected the corners of the cloth and carried the biscuits outside. The sight before her left her breathless. The full moon hung high above the blue-green hills casting a gossamer glow over everything it touched. Lancer truly was the most beautiful place on earth and she was blessed to call it home.

Snorts and more hooves redirected her thoughts.

"Easy, easy." Johnny's voice quieted the romp. It was coming from the small corral behind the barn. Joker flashed before her first as she rounded the corner. He raced along the rail. Johnny came into view a heartbeat later standing steadfast in the center, a rope coiled in one hand. "Good boy." Joker spun away and Johnny stepped forward tossing out an end of rope to pressure the horse into moving in the other direction.

Willie froze when Joker's ears flattened and he swung around heading for Johnny.

'It's okay, Joker, she won't hurt you." Johnny spoke without taking his eyes off the horse.

She took a few cautious steps then stopped to watch their dance. That's what Scott called it when he spoke of Johnny's way with horses. Soft spoken words, the flick of rope and tail, the spiraling circles, all came together as a beautiful dance. The only thing missing was music. "You make it look easy."

"Well, it ain't hard." He spoke as he circled around, his eyes following the dark bay. "Can't force him, he's too strong. Won't ever win that battle. He just needs to want what I want." Johnny stopped moving and Joker relaxed and stopped too. "He'd lost his trust in people; I'll get it back."

"Can't blame him, not after what he's been through. I watched the livery burn that night. Lou's no-good brother set the hay bales on fire and the place went up in seconds. I never knew horses could scream like that." The memory was one she'd never shake; their death cries gave her gooseflesh even now. "Heartbreaking."

"It is." Johnny looked done in. He bent to rub his leg and Joker approached. Johnny reached up and stroked his nose. "You're a good boy." He straightened and ran a hand over Joker's hindquarter. It was deeply scared from the flames. "I'm surprised he didn't die."

"He was the only one Lou managed to save, but it cost them both. The poor man's hands were badly burned as well. I'm not sure either would have survived without the other."

"Maybe, but the last thing Joker needed was to be penned back up in that stall. Not with the stench of the blacksmith next door." They were quiet for a moment and she watched Johnny. He leaned heavily against the bay and traced the scar with a trembling hand. "One gust of wind and he's living it all over again." Johnny sniffed at the breeze. It carried a delightful scent Willie was unfamiliar with. "A smell can bring back all kinds of memories. It might have been the cruelest thing Lou could a done."

"I'm sure that wasn't Lou's intention. He loves this horse."

Johnny scoffed. "Guess that's the problem then."

"How can love ever be the problem? That's unimaginable."

"Think I'll ask Alma to stitch up a saddle pad." His finger trailed across the deepest part of the scar. "Bet that's a lot of his problem right there. Saddle rubs him, must feel as uncomfortable as a burr." Johnny bent to climb between the rails. "Shouldn't a taken Remy to get me to look, I could a saved this boy a lot of grief if only I'd..."

"Since when is it your job to save everything that breathes, John Lancer?" As the question left her lips she regretted it. She sounded like her own mother and it was none of her business. And, no matter how close they'd become over these past few weeks, she had no right to the answer that was reflected in his eyes. She looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Willie." She felt his hand on her shoulder. "You've got no need to be sorry. You can ask me any question you want, but I got one rule."

She turned back to face him. "A rule?"

"Yup. You have to want the truth."

"What is the point in asking a question if you don't want an honest answer?"

"I don't know, but maybe you could ask Murdoch and Scott for starters."

At that moment Willie felt helpless. She heard the hurt in Johnny's voice and wondered what had he wanted to tell them that they refused to hear. There was little she could offer in the way of comfort. She looked at her hands and laughed a nervous laugh when she remembered the biscuits. "Seems I forgot all about why I got up in the first place. Would you like one?" she asked holding open the cloth.

He pointed toward the bench beside the barn. "First I need to sit. This leg's getting a bit ornery." He picked up a bucket from beside the pump, flipped it over in front of the bench and sat; putting his leg up. She passed him a biscuit and he licked at the marmalade that oozed out the edge. "Kinda funny you having a picnic by yourself in the middle of the night, ain't it?"

"I'm never by myself these days." She looked at him and smiled then took a bite from her biscuit.

He looked at her with a puzzled expression then understanding spread across his face. "I get it," he said. "That little guy." He waved his hand in the direction of her belly. "He's always with you."

"Little girl." She corrected.

"And just how do you know that?"

Willie took another bite and pondered the question. "I don't know. Just do, is all."

"Things sure are changing around here; Teresa and Maria leaving, you and Scott married, and a baby." He let go a soft whistle. Joker's ears perked and he wandered closer to their side of the corral. Together they sat in silence each nibbling at their biscuit. Willie watched as the moon drifted lower in the sky. The shadows it cast grew longer.

"Is it my fault, Johnny? Have I turned the Lancer world on its ear?"

"You sure have." He laughed. "Scott's world and Murdoch's will never be the same again and I don't think I've seen either one more proud."

She felt a blush color her cheek. "What about yours? And Teresa's?"

He stuffed the last of his biscuit into his mouth and didn't speak until it was gone. "Teresa's grateful. She's been ready to make a change for a while now, but there was little chance of Murdoch agreeing. He forgets she's got some of her mother's blood and this ranch was getting too small. You coming here gave her a ticket."

"And you?" she asked.

He yawned. "Don't know about you but I'm about ready for bed."

"Think I'll wait for my honest answer, if you don't mind."

"You sure?" he asked looking her in the eye.

"Wouldn't have asked otherwise," She said trying to sound cavalier.

Johnny dropped his head and pushed a breath through closed lips. "Lancer means a lot to me and I've been happy with the way things were for a long time." He met her gaze. "But, it was the need for change that brought me and Scott here in the first place and it's time for things to change again. Your being here just makes it easier."

"Easier? It makes what easier?"

Johnny looked from her to Joker. "Yup, that saddle pad will make a world of difference." His voice grew soft and Willie had to scrunch a little closer to hear. "Found a sketch of one in with Reba's things. Pity is she had the skills to make it." He sighed. "There was a lot of good in that girl."

"Most of us couldn't see it. Why could you?"

"Maybe I was looking in a mirror. She did a lot of bad things and she had a lot of bad things done to her. But before that, her life was sweet and it should have stayed that way and there is only me to blame."

"You're wrong. It was Grayson, no one else."

Johnny pushed up from the bench. "Thought you wanted the truth, guess you're no different."

"Wait." Willie placed a hand on his arm.

"Figured with you it wouldn't matter, guess your love for Scott's got you blinded too." Johnny stared at her.

She reached for his hand. "Johnny, I…"

"I'm cold," he said and disappeared into the barn.

She'd let him down. What he needed was someone to listen and believe, not someone to tell him he had things wrong. Earlier he'd said love was the problem and she couldn't imagine how that was possible. Now she understood. Scott and Murdoch needed to believe in the Johnny they knew and loved. Only problem was, Johnny didn't think that meant him.

He walked out of the barn wrapped in a blanket pulled from the Sunday buggy. He sat beside her and opened one side to let her in. She accepted his offer.

"Guess I didn't keep my end of the bargain, did I?" she asked.

"No, no you didn't."

"Tell me then. Tell me how this is not Grayson's doing."

"Because blaming him is the easy way out. Over the years I wanted to kill him more times then there are blades of grass on this ranch."

"What stopped you?" Surprise met her question; surprise mixed with relief and any misgivings she had faded away. This was right.

"Suppose there are as many reasons as chances, but it all boils down to one thing. I was selfish and I kinda felt I owed the man. But that night, in the saloon, everything changed. I made right on my mistake."

Their eyes met and she believed what he said. He was the one. He killed Grayson. Murdoch and Scott couldn't accept this truth. They loved him too much to believe he was capable of cold blooded murder and that hurt, hurt him more than he was willing to admit.

"I'll let you in on a little secret. Every time I pulled that trigger to take a man's life I believed I was doing it for the right reasons. Grayson was no different, it made no difference that he didn't have a gun, and it made no difference that it was what he wanted. I wanted it and…" He leaned his head back against the barn and closed his eyes. "I thought I could save her. Right up until she shot Love I thought there was hope."

"You can't save everyone."

"Maybe not but I have to try."

"Who needs saving now, Johnny?"

His eyes searched her face begging to find understanding.

"The boy?" Tears stung Willie's eyes when she understood what that meant.

Johnny shrugged. "Don't forget, I've got some of my mother's blood in me too. Wanderlust is a hard thing to tame."

"But… You can't go. Lancer is your home. You belong here."

"I do." He smiled. "And I always will."

"You need time. Your leg needs to heal, and your hands… they're still shaking. It would be dangerous for you."

"Don't worry. There's still things that need doing. And I have to meet that little bundle of hope you're carrying around inside. But, I feel the call and I won't let it go unanswered."

"I still don't understand why?" She wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of the blanket. "Why do you need to save everyone? From Selma at the Painted Lady to Grace and her fear of horses there isn't a person in these parts you haven't tried to save in one way or another…"

Johnny stood and draped his side of the blanket over Willie. "You look cold. We best head inside."

She stood to follow. "Johnny, maybe it's time to be selfish, maybe it's you that needs saving."

He stopped then turned to face her. "Don't you think I know that?

Willie stood motionless watching as Johnny walked away. She had her answer. This was the only way Johnny knew how to save himself.

The End – Epilogue to follow


End file.
